THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE    HEROES 


OF 


THE    LAST    LUSTRE. 


A    POEM. 


11  THERE  WERE  GIANTS  IN  THE  EARTH  IN  THOSE  DA  Y8.n 


NEW   YORK: 
PUBLISHED  BY  DANIEL  DANA,  JR. 

381   BROADWAY. 

1858. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1858, 

Br  DANIEL  DANA,  JR., 
ID  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


RENNTE,  SHEA  ft  LINDSAY 

STIRIOTTPIHS  AND  ELicTRorrrcu, 

81,  83,  ft  85  Ontr,.-itre«t 

NEW  YORK. 


PS 
.2399 


TO 
THE    MEMORY    OF 

MY    FATHER, 

A     VALIANT    SOLDIER    OF    THE    CROSS, 

WHO   HIMSELF 

FELL    ON    THE    FIELD 

DURING    THIS    LAST    LUSTRE, 

THESE    PAGES 

ARE   DEDICATED. 


APOLOGY. 

That  the  title  of  this  Poem  may  not  appear  inappro 
priate,  the  author  would  state  that  the  greater  part  of  it 
was  written  two  years  ago.  Causes  beyond  cont/rol  have 
latterly  delayed  the  publication  of  a  song  not  then  in 
tended  for  the  world.  Jf  the  reader  will  consider  the 
"  Last  Lustre  "  as  intended  for  the  years  previous  to  the 
writing,  and  not  the  publication  of  this  volume,  he  will 
understand  better  its  motto  ;  and  will  confess  that  no 
Jive  years'  space  in  the  world's  history  has  produced 
more  giants  in  true  valor,  than  this  Last  Lustre  of  an 
age  that  false  reformers  term  degenerate. 

The  author  hopes  to  be  pardoned  in  that  he  has  left 
the  beaten  path  of  modern  poetry,  and,  after  the  spirit 
of  the  ancient  masters  of  the  art,  has  chanted,  in  strains 
that  perhaps  lack  the  sentimentality  of  the  love-song,  the 
noble  deeds  of  HEROES. 

OCTOBER,   1858. 


APOLOGY. 

That  the  title  of  this  Poem  may  not  appear  inappro 
priate,  the  author  would  state  that  the  greater  part  of  it 
was  written  two  years  ago.  Causes  beyond  control  have 
latterly  delayed  the  publication  of  a  song  not  then  in 
tended  for  the  world.  If  the  reader  will  consider  the 
"  Last  Lustre"  as  intended  for  the  years  previous  to  the 
writing,  and  not  the  publication  of  this  volume,  he  will 
understand  better  its  motto  /  and  will  confess  that  no 
five  years'  space  in  the  world's  history  has  produced 
more  giants  in  true  valor,  than  this  Last  Lustre  of  an 
age  that  false  reformers  term  degenerate. 

The  author  hopes  to  be  pardoned  in  that  he  has  left 
the  beaten  path  of  modern  poetry,  and,  after  the  spirit 
of  the  ancient  masters  of  the  art,  has  chanted,  in  stra^ns 
that  perhaps  lack  the  sentimentality  of  tJie  love-song,  the 
noble  deeds  of  HEROES. 

OCTOBER,   1858. 


PROEM. 

O  HEART  of  Man !    one,  ever,  and  the  same, 
Whatever  age,  whatever  country  claim 
Thy  birth, — for,  in  the  ancient  fields  of  Time, 
(So  silent  now  their . silence  is  sublime!) 
From  sere  and  falling  boughs  the  fruit  depends 
In  ripened  loveliness,  the  same  that  bends 
'The  sturdy  tree  of  this  the  latest  age : — 

Great  Heart  of  Man!   whose  honored  heritage 
Is  holy  love,  God's  primal  thought  which  erst 
Upon  infinity  in  star-words  burst; 
Which  lit  those  lamps  that  with  undying  ray 
Light  weary  souls  upon  their  heavenward  way: 
Eternal  love,  pure  and  serene,  the  bow 
Spanned  from  God's  throne  to  his  footstool  below, 
Beaming  through  all  the  storms  and  mists  of  earth 


THE   IIEKOES   OF   THE   LAST   LUSTRE. 

That  cloud  the  radiance  of  our  heavenly  birth, 
The  certain  pledge  of  peace  that  is  to  come, 
And  in  its  shadow  make  on  earth  her  home : 

Strong  Heart  of  Man !    that  ever  hast  withstood 
Fetter,  and  chain,  and  badge  of  servitude ; 
Firm  in  the  right,  and  fearless  in  the  fray 
Wherever  Wrong  her  horrid  host  array ; 
Yet,  generous  in  thy  strength,  dost  mercy  show, 
And  bend,  a  brother,  o'er  the  fallen  foe ; 
Dost  hang  thy  banner  on  the  mind's  grim  walls, 
And  where  the  clash  of  reason's  conflict  calls, 
Shod  with  eternal  love,  thy  willing  feet 
Hie  swift,  on  mercy's  godlike  errand  fleet; 
Then  up  through  Heaven's  high  portals  borne  afar, 
In  whispered  blessing  dies  the  din  of  war: 

True  Heart  of  Man !   that  by  a  golden  thread 
Unitest  all  the  living  with  the  dead; 
Unitest  all  the  living  in  one  band, 
Who,  soul  by  soul,  make  up  Life's  shifting  strand 
By  Time's  waves  washed,  and  lost,  as  even  he, 
In  the  thick  ^hu<l»u.-  <>f  Ku-rnity  ! 


PKOEM.  9 

Unitest  all  on  earth  with  all  above, 

By  that  one  golden  ray  of  godlike  love — 

Ray  that  has  travelled  through  the  realms  of  space, 

Sphere-like  its  pathway  without  trail  or  trace, 

Yet,  in  the  beauty  that  it  wakes  on  earth, 

Reveals  to  man  the  secret  of  its  birth  ; 

Awaking  here  an  echo  of  the  song 

Whose  chorus  Heaven's  angelic  host  prolong : — 

(Caught  by  the  spheres  as  ever  on  they  flee, 

Loud  swells  the  hymn  throughout  infinity ; 

While,  as  their  voices  rise  in  joyous  tone, 

Shouteth  each  sun-king  from  his  lurid  throne, 

Until  the  anthem,  circling  through  all  space, 

In  human  hearts,  at  last,  finds  resting  place ; 

That  strand,  on  which  the  waves  of  heavenly  song, 

Dashing  the  star-bound  shores  of  space  along, 

And  arching  Heaven  with  rainbow-jewelled  spray, 

In  music  break,  and  gently  fade  away:) 

True  as  the  gold  by  fiery  test  refined ; 
Strong  as  the  wind  that  dwelleth  unconfined, 


10  THE   HEROES   OF  THE   LAST   LUSTRE. 

"Whether  it  lull  the  violet  to  sleep, 

Or  rouse  to  rage  the  guardians  of  the  deep ; 

Great  as  thy  home  the  Universe,  and  full, 

As  it  with  suns,  of  treasure  wonderful — 

O  brother  Heart!    A  pilgrim  for  a  time, 

Life  for  thy  road,  but  Heaven  thy  proper  clime, 

List  while  I  strive  to  wake  a  kindred  strain, 

And  touch  the  chord  struck  never  yet  in  vain ! 


I. 


I. 

BEYOND  the  Frost-king's  marble-pillared  den  ; 
Beyond  the  farthest  haunts  of  living  men ; 
Beyond  the  frozen  tracks  of  deep-fanged  bear; 
Beyond  the  sea-calf's  icy-covered  lair; 
Far  from  the  circling  sweep  of  Arctic  bird; 
Far  from  the  echoes  by  his  swift  flight  stirred; 
Far  from  the  Northern  Light's  fleet,  sparkling  smile, 
The  brightening  moon,  and  stars'  far-splendoring  wile ; 
Far  from  the  fitful  favors  of  the  Day, 
And,  from  the  wayward  frowns  of  Night,  away; 
(Ambitious  Night,  who  rent  her  husband's  throne, 
And  girt  her  murderous  heart  with  diamond  zone 
In  vain, — his  golden  crown  outshines  its  glare, 
And  with  its  splendor  awes  the  yielding  air!) 
There  holds  the  Sun  his  everlasting  reign, 


14:  THE   HEROES   OF  THE   LAST  LUSTRE. 

And  laughs  in  triumph  o'er  the  usurper  slain. 
The  universal  air  above  his  head, 
The  depthless  sea  beneath  his  feet  outspread; 
Silence  the  mighty  viceroy  who  with  sway 
Boundless  as  his,  sees  earth  and  sky  obey; 
Swift  at  his  nod  the  breezes  hold  their  breath, 
Till  Echo  voiceless  yields  her  unto  death. 
High  on  the  peak  that  glitters  far  away, 
The  sleepless  sunbeam  holds  a  warder's  sway, 
And,  jealous,  blinds  the  curious  eyes  that  dare 
The  charmed  precincts  of  its  golden  lair. 
In  silence  throned,  upon  this  silent  sea 
The  sun  bends  smiling  from  Infinity! 

No  earthly  keel  has  ploughed  this  virgin  deep  ; 
No  wave  has  seen  the  stealthy  shadow  creep 
Upon  its  breast,  of  mast,  or  sail,  or  shroud, 
Nor  rippling  crest  to  mortal  prow  has  bowed. 
No  human  ken  has  conned  its  riches  o'er, 
Or  traced  the  wanderings  of  its  devious  shore ; 
A  mortal  eye  has  seen,  mayhap,  afar, 


THE   HEROES   OF   THE   LAST   LUSTRE.        *  15 

Its  distant  waters  twinkling  like  a  star :  — • 

The  Indian  of  the  snow-encircled  coast 

Has  stood  and  gazed,  in  childish  wonder  lost, 

Or  tried  in  vain,  to  scan  with  practised  eye 

The  limits  of  its  wide  immensity ; 

He  never  dared  upon  its  breast  to  float 

The  precious  treasure  of  his  fragile  boat — • 

He  feared  the  tempest's  furious  breath  would  sweep 

His  tiny  vessel  from  the  cradling  deep ; 

Or  golden  spear,  or  bolt  of  deadly  fire, 

Transfix  the  victim  of  a  sun-king's  ire. 

"What  spirits  revel  there,  I  cannot  tell : 
Perchance  the  breath  of  rising  breeze  may  swell 
Their  tiny  sails,  who  weave  with  nimble  hand 
The  frosty  veil  that  decks  the  Autumnal  land ; 
Or  those  fair  sprites  who  in  their  bosom  hold 
The  snowy  plumes  that  grace  the  wintry  wold, 
Frolic  on  fairy  foot  from  wave  to  wave, 
And  in  its  foam  their  pallid  beauty  lave, 
Hasting  to  sow  broadcast  o'er  earth's  rich  fields 


16  THE   IIEBOE8   OF  THE   LAST   LUSTRE. 

The  snowy  seed  that  foaming  torrents  yields ! 
When  high  commission  from  their  king  they  bear, 
Perhaps  they  shake  upon  the  slumbering  air 
The  keys  that  lock  the  brook — and  rivers  close — 
And  chain  the  mountain  in  his  robe  of  snows ; 
Until  the  frightened  breeze,  awaked  from  sleep, 
Flies,  still  increasing,  o'er  the  boiling  deep, 
Freighted  with  dreams  of  direst  ocean  storms, 
And  death  drawn  fearful  in  a  thousand  forms. 
The  tiny  servants  of  the  great  Frost-king 
Across  its  depths  their  silent  courses  wing ; 
They  bear  the  vials  of  their  master's  wrath 
To  pour  upon  the  summer's  golden  path — 
Blood-red  the  trail  where  pass  their  trusty  feet, 
And  fallen  leaves  their  vengeful  footsteps  greet ; 
The  bald  tree  bends  before  their  icy  breath, 
And  leaf  and  flower  yield  trembling  unto  death : 
But  pure  and  gentle  as  a  seraph's  prayer, 
Borne  like  a  feather  through  the  nursing  air, 
Ihistes  o'er  the  wave  the  winter's  parting  breath, 
To  tint  the  verdure  of  the  earth's  spring  wreath. 


THE    HEROES   OF   THE   LAST   LUSTRE.  17 

Some  dream,  upon  the  confines  where  the  stars 
First  break  the  despot  Day-god's  golden  bars, 
The  joyful  orbs  keep  echo  of  the  strain 
That  ushered  in  their  calm  and  holy  reign, 
When,  at  Creation's  birth,  God's  creatures  sang 
Till  Heaven  and  Hell  with  their  wild  praises  rang : 
Oh!    does  there  swell  across  this  unknown  sea 
The  music  of  such  heavenly  harmony? 
Perhaps  the  angel  ministers  who  light 
The  glowing  fires  that  lamp  our  gloomy  night, 
Across  its  waters  trail  their  glittering  train, 
To  fill  their  censers  in  the  sunbeams'  fane — 
While  Ocean  treasures  in  his  world-wide  heart 
These  gorgeous  scenes  that  o'er  his  mirror  dart. 

What  glories  rare  have  passed  before  its  gaze 
And  filled  its  pulsing  bosom  with  amaze  ; 
What  angel  footsteps  gambol  o'er  its  waves ; 
What  magic  skiff  its  tranquil  water  laves ; 
What  heavenly  eyes  have  drooped  upon  its  breast, 
And  by  its  murmur  soothed,  have  closed  to  rest ; 


18  TIIE   HEROES   OF   THE   LAST   LUSTRE. 

What  silver  wing  has  skimmed  this  maiden  deep, 

Or  met  its  tiny  crestcaps'  frolic  leap ; 

What  unseen  monsters  in  its  caverns  play, 

Or  through  its  waters  cleave  their  sparkling  way; 

What  living  motes  upon  the  sunbeams  ride, 

And  dip  their  beauty  in  the  laughing  tide ; 

What  birds  are  wearied  by  the  yoke  of  gold 

The  sunrays  o'er  their  shining  feathers  hold; 

What  glittering  messengers  as  guardians  stand, 

To  hold  the  stars  within  a  golden  band — 

Or  in  the  corners  of.  high  heaven  keep 

Their  ceaseless  watch  upon  the  azure  steep, 

And  far  outstretched,  with  skilful  hands  that  bear 

The  yellow  curtain  of  the  noonday  air — 

I  cannot  tell ;  for  never  mortal  sail 

Has  crossed  its  waves  to  bring  the  wondrous  tale. 

That  virgin  sea  is  meet  to  bear  thy  name, 
O  FRANKLIN,  noble  martyr-child  of  Fame — 
Deep  as  thy  heart  its  soundless  waters  are, 
Like  thy  pure  life  no  earthly  taint  they  bear ! 


THE   HEROES   OF   THE   LAST   LUSTRE.  19 

Or  scarce  less  honored,  thine,  intrepid  KANE, 
Meet  dweller  in  the  same  Immortal  Fane  ! 
When  fell  Fame's  tears  upon  his  honored  grave, 
Earth  to  her  love  thy  manly  courage  gave — 
Than  him  ne'er  mother  wept  a  nobler  son, 
Or  gained  so  soon,  in  thee,  as  dear  an  one ! 
Let  Faith,  and  Hope,  and  patient  Love  receive 
The  crown  that  Earth  is  generous  yet  to  give. 


20         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 


H. 

SLOWLY,  slowly  as  a  cloud 

Creeping  up  the  field  of  blue, 
Hold  we  now  our  trailless  path 

Seas  and  icy  deserts  through : 
In  a  snowy  vestment  swathed, 

Shrouded  as  the  white-robed  hills, 
Flitting  ghost-like  through  the  deep 

"WTieresoe'er  the  current  wills, 
Seem  we  still  more  grim  and  ghastly 

Than  the  giant  bergs  that  speed 
On  their  silent  mission  by  us, 

Nor  our  pigmy  vessels  heed. 

The  sun  in  rising  splendor 

Glancing  proudly  o'er  the  scene, 
Bathes  the  pyramid  gigantic 

In  a  purple,  glowing  sheen  ; 


THE   HEROES   OP  THE   LAST  LTJSTKE.  21 

Lights  the  shapely  marbled  tower 

Into  festive  brilliancy, 
And  with  rainbow-fingered  hand 

Decks  the  clouds  resplendently ; 
Not  half  such  gorgeous  beauty 

Steals  upon  the  enchanted  brain 
Of  the  wildered  Eastern  dreamer 

Sunk  beneath  the  drug's  wild  reign  ! 

Now  the  distant  starry  choir 

Chant  the  tired  Earth's  evensong, 
As  in  gold  and  purple  raiment 

Through  the  paths  of  space  they  throng. 
Lo !   the  North  Light's  fiery  footsteps 

Spangle  all  the  dusky  arch, 
On  the  waiting,  bending  sky 

Hanging  jewels  in  its  march; 
As  a  Heaven-reaching  ladder 

"With  angelic  faces  bright, 
It  bridges  with  its  glories 

The  deep  darkness  of  the  night. 


22  THE  HEROES   OF  THE   LAST    LUSTRE. 

Girt  with  splendors  yet  we  dream 

Of  the  homes  we  left  behind ; 
In  each  far-off  hearthstone  still 

Are  our  hopes  and  love  enshrined. 
Still  the  ruddy  hand  of  Morn 

Hasting  from  the  distant  shore 
Where  our  hearts  are  centred,  brings 

Fairest  flowers  from  Memory's  store — 
Still  the  peaceful,  nun-like  Even 

Comes  with  prayers  and  blessings  bright, 
Learned  from  dearest  lips  outpouring 

All  their  heart  to  silent  Night! 

Years  have  mouldered  in  their  tomb, 

Since,  like  clouds  at  set  of  sun, 
We  watched  them  melt  in  darkness, 

Snow-white  cliffs  of  Albion  ! 
We  miss  the  golden  flashing 

Of  the  slender,  summer  grain, 
And  the  fairy-fingered  flowers 

Staining  all  the  grassy  plain : 


THE  HEKOES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.         23 

And  we  miss  the  merry  voices, 

And  the  fireside's  homely  cheer, 

Loving  looks,  and  words  of — Hush  ! 
For  I  feel  the  coward  tear. 

Courage  !  courage  !  gallant  comrades  ! 

Night  will  pass,  though  dark  and  dreary, 
And  the  day  will  bring  the  sunshine 

To  the  fainting  heart  and  weary. 
Think  no  more  of  home  and  pleasure, — 

Drive  these  misty  damps  away — 
Sun-like,  let  our  full-orbed  purpose 

Bring  again  the  perfect  day ! 
Onward,  onward  is  the  watchword — 

Hearts  are  stout,  and  brave,  and  true — 
Never  sighing  or  repining, 

It  is  ours  to  live,  and  do  ! 

We  are  passing  through  a  temple 

Made  by  God's  own  viewless  hand — 
Far  more  glorious  this  than  any 


24         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Builded  shrines  on  earth  that  stand : 
He  upheaved  these  icy  columns, 

And  He  smoothed  yon  snowy  nave, 

And  the  Sun,  for  aye  His  servant — 
For  His  worship  here,  He  gave ! 

His  own  faithful  arm,  remember, 
Is  about  our  lonely  path, 

Whether  earthly  or  celestial 

Is  the  home  for  us  He  hath ! 

Cheering  thus  their  drooping  hearts,  with  courageous 

glance  and  song, 
These  lion-hearted  heroes  through  the  ocean  wandered 

long- 
Wandered  far   o'er  pathless   coast   through  the   icy- 
channeled  sea, 
Where  the  Frost-king  on  his  throne  holds  unceasing 

jubilee  ! 

Not  the  golden  fleece  they  sought,  but  a  silver  shroud 
they  found, 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTBE.         25 

That  in  snowy  bands  the  ship  and  the  stiffened  sailor 

bound — 
Bound  their  heart  in  icy  grasp — locked  their  hand  in 

frozen  chain — 
Glazed  the  piercing,  merry  eye — held  in  death   the 

busy  brain. 
Tell  me,  O   thou  Wind,  that  murmuredst  o'er  their 

sleep  a  lullaby, 
Where  is  noble  FBANKLIN  sleeping,  with  his  gallant 

company  ? 
Didst  thou  catch  their  dying  sigh — didst  thou  watch 

the  soul  depart? 

And  bearest  thou  their  blessings  in  thy  world -em 
bracing  heart? 
Or  murmuring  deceitful,  didst  thou   lull   them   with 

sweet  sound, 
Till  around  their  frozen  corpses  thy  treacherous  arms 

were  wound  ? 
Wert  thou  the  snow-storm's  charger,  heading  in  thy 

rapid  night 


26         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Myriad  ghostly  columns  sweeping  on  in  overwhelm 
ing  might 

Till  they  crushed  the  feeble  ship — while  thy  dreadful 
chorus  swept, 

In  a  hellish  hymn  of  triumph,  o'er  the  white  tomb 
where  they  slept? 

Last  eve  in  dreams  I  saw  them !  I  was  standing  in 
the  night — 

There  was  darkness  at  my  feet,  and  above  I  saw  no 
•light: 

Moon  and  stars  had  hid  their  faces  in  a  dank,  mist- 
fingered  hand- 

And  the  earth  shrank  from  the  clouds — and  the  mists 
frowned  on  the  land. 

Long  I  gazed  with  earnest  glance,  till  there  seemed 
a  frozen  coast 

Dimly  rising  from  the  waves  which  were  frozen  as 
they  tossed — 

Frozen,  frozen,  all  was  frozen,  till  the  very  air  it 
seemed 


THE   HEROES   OF   THE   LAST   LUSTKE.  27 

To  be  freezing  all  my  veins  and  my  heart-strings 
while  I  dreamed  ! 

There  they  stood,  those  brave  twin  sisters,  stricken  in 
their  race  with  death! 

In  mockery  about  them  he  had  hung  a  snowy 
wreath. 

Half  across  the  glassy  decks  of  the  ships  one  wave 
was  hurled, 

Which  had  crystalled  as  it  flew;  and  the  little  rip 
ples  curled 

Still  around  the  frozen  prow,  but  their  liveliness  was 
gone : 

The  sails  seemed  cut  of  marble,  and  the  ropes  were 
carved  of  stone ! 

There  they  stood,  twin  marble  fanes,  carved  by  view 
less  artist  hand, 

Built  for  worshippers  unseen  on  the  distant  lonely 
strand : 

Or  as  if  a  bridal  pair,  in  a  garb  of  white  arrayed, 

The  iceberg  was  their  altar,  and  the  wind  a  psean 
played  ! 


28         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Swing  the    glassy  door  in    silence   on  its  rusty  iron 

hinge ; 
How  it  glitters  in  the  darkness,  the   sparkling  frosty 

fringe ! 
O  God !  what  ghastly  faces,  with  a  fixed  and  stony 

gaze, 
Are    staring    into    mine   with    the    look    that    never 

strays ! 
As  if  some  quaint  old  sculptor,  in  crazed  or  morbid 

mood, 

Had    bent    the    stubborn    marble   into    lifelike    atti 
tude, 
The  crew  around  were  clustered  in  that  charnel-house 

of  death, — 
Promethean  statues,  waiting  only  for  the  quickening 

breath ! 
Oh,  that  fearful,  fearful  dream!  let  me  drive  it  from 

my  sight — 
For  still  its  steps  pursue  me  through  the  shadows  of 

the  night. 


THE   HEROES   OF  THE   LAST  LUSTRE.  29 

Then  I  wandered  in  my  dreams;  and  a  spirit  led  me 
where 

The  purple  Arctic  sunlight  spread  its  glory  through 
the  air. 

I  saw  a  little  graveyard,  crouched  beneath  a  moun 
tain's  side, 

Where  the  wind  that  swept  the  plain  in  a  gentle 
murmur  died ; 

And  the  sun  had  crowned  so  splendently  the  grave 
yard's  clustered  host, 

That  I  fancied  them  an  angel-band,  on  earth  in  slum 
ber  lost ; 

Their  white  wings  folded  peacefully  above  each  gen 
tle  breast, 

While  a  golden  coronet  there  seemed  on  each  fair 
brow  to  rest. 

"Was  this  their  peaceful  death-couch — or  was  theirs  a 
fearful  end  ? 

Alas !  nor  earth,  nor  sea,  nor  sky,  an  answering  sign 
may  send. 


30          THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

But  one  true  heart  still  watches  by  England's  distant 

shore, 

And  listens  for  the  footsteps  she  will  greet,  oh !  nev 
ermore  ! 
Though   hopes   have   faded   one   by   one   from    every 

manly  breast, 
Or,  stranded  on  Despair's  dim  shore,  have  sunk  for 

aye  to  rest — 
Yet  love  burns  high  within  her  soul,  and  prompts  the 

trustful  prayer, 
That  still  some  strong  arm  stretched  from  Heaven  the 

good  ship  home  may  bear. 
It    casts    its    holy   splendor   far  upon    his  wandering 

path, 
The  torch-fire  of  her  woman's  love,  the  beacon  of  her 

faith ! 

O  sunlight  heart  of  woman,  ever  radiant,  ever  bright, 
Though  the  clouds  from  earth's  dull  hearth  strive  to 

hide  thy  glowing  light, 
Yet  we  know  that  far  above   them  thou  hast  thine 

eternal  throne, 


THE   HEROES   OF   THE   LAST   LUSTRE.  31 

And  dost  compass  earth  and  clouds  with  thy  beam 
ing,  sunny  zone ! 

Take  comfort,  noble  woman ;  though  thy  Franklin  has 
no  tomb 

Where  love  unsympathizing  flies  the  marble's  chilling 
gloom, 

He  has  made  his  grave  for  aye  in  the  nations'  world 
wide  heart, 

And  while  it  beats,  his  memory  from  earth  will  ne'er 
depart. 

Oh,  better  far  the  life  upon  his  country's  altar  laid, 

And  better  far  the  high  command  of  duty  well 
obeyed, 

Than  the  life  of  slothful  ease,  and  the  hours  of  dull 
repose, 

That  like  cloudless  days  of  summer  in  weary  languor 
close. 

Around  his  glowing  sunset  gathered  clouds  of  bright 
est  hue, 

Till  the  Night-queen  reigned  her  steeds  the  glorious 
sight  to  view ! 


32         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Still  where  his  sun  at  noonday  disappeared  from 
earthly  sight, 

Hearts  are  clustered  thick  as  stars  mourning  his  un 
timely  flight ; 

Still  gorgeous  clouds  of  triumph  are  decking  all  the 
sky, 

And  thunder-tones  of  praises  roll  a  regal  symphony. 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.         33 


ni. 

LOST,  oh  lost! 

Heard  you  the  busy  breeze 
Whisper  the  listening  trees, 
Till  sighing  in  accord 
They  caught  the  dreadful  word, 
"While  high  their  bleak  arms  tossed? 
Lost,  oh  lost ! 

Lost,  oh  lost! 
The  bursting  ocean  wave 
A  voice  to  sorrow  gave, 
And  as  its  foaming  crest 
Sank  on  the  sea's  deep  breast, 
Muttered  the  sad  accost — 
Lost,  oh  lost! 

Lost,  oh  lost ! 

A  stout  and  valiant  soul, 
8 


34  THE    HEROES    OF  THE    LAST    LUSTRE. 

A  manly  heart  and  whole, 
Duty's  true  soldiers  they — 
The  swiftest  to  obey, 

Though  death  their  straight  path  crossed- 
Lost,  oh  lost! 

Lost,  oh  lost! 
A  true  and  steadfast  man, 
First  in  the  world's  great  van  ; 
"Whose  name  without  a  spot 
No  more  for  aye  forgot, 
"Will  be  his  country's  boast. 
Lost,  oh  lost ! 

Lost,  oh  lost ! 
Proclaim  it,  royal  wind, 
King  of  the  unconfined ! 
The  mountain  pathways  scale,— 
Breathe  in  the  rustic  vale, — 
The  faithful  at  his  post, 
Lost,  oh  lost! 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTKE.         35 

Lost,  oh  lost ! 
A  woman's  loving  voice, 
Mute  at  the  step  of  joys, 
Pleads  through  rebellious  tears, — 
Still  looking  from  her  fears 
For  him  she  loves  the  most : 
Lost,  oh  lost ! 

Lost,  oh  lost ! 
Will  never  kindly  heart 
Upon  the  mission  start? 

Oh,  prayer  shall  fill  his  sail, 
And  calm  the  hostile  gale, 
And  save  him  tempest-tossed. 
Lost,  oh  lost ! 

Earth's  heart  aroused  it  at  the  pleading  prayer — 
Shook  off  its  gilded  trappings,  and  laid  bare 
The  inborn  riches  in  its  soundless  deep 
Far  from  the  daylight's  common  glare  that  sleep: 
Heart  vied  with  heart,  and  hand  with  eager  hand, 


36  THE    HEROES    OF   THE    LAST    LUSTRE. 

Each  to  be  foremost  in  the  generous  band. 
True  souls  shook  off  the  sloth  of  selfish  dreams, 
And  ope'd  their  fountains  to  the  sunlight's  beams,- 
Founts  that  beneath  the  ice  of  self  reposed, 
Or  in  their  youth  the  stony  world  had  closed. 

America !  then  were  thy  heart-strings  swept 
By  the  sad  wail  that  o'er  Atlantic  crept ! 
Thus,  stealing  o'er  the  slight  ./Eolian  string, 
The  breeze  but  brushed  it  with  a  stealthy  wing, 
Yet  not  too  light  to    wake  the  tuneful  throng 
Lurking  within  its  breast,  of  matchless  song — 
And  louder,  sweeter  swells  the  full-choired  gale 
Answered,  responsive,  from  the  mount  and  vale : 
But  purer,  less  of  earth  and  more  of  Heaven, 
That  burst  of  grief  for  missing  Franklin  given ; 
One  holds  entranced,  mayhap,  a  listening  world— 
To  hear  the  other,  angel  wings  were  furled. 

Then  Commerce  threw  aside  her  golden  mask, 
And  Mammon  bent  him  to  the  unwonted  task ; 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LU8TKE.         37 

Then  to  our  dimmed  and  narrowed  sight  was  given 
The  nearest  glimpse  that  earth  may  have  of  Heaven. 
O  God !  it  was  a  splendid  sight  to  see 
Such  spark  of  Heaven  in  dull  humanity ! 

As  from  the  ramparts  of  their  city  spring 
An  angel  twain,  and  cleave  with  snowy  wing 
The  azure  waves  that  break  in  light  upon 
The  sapphire  shore  of  every  distant  sun — 
With  gladness  fired  they  from  their  Master's  throne 
Bear  life  to  breathe  upon  some  far-off  zone : 
So  from  the  shelter  of  our  western  world 
Two  little  barks  their  snowy  sails  unfurled, 
And  on  their  joyous  path  of  mercy  sped, 
A  brother's  love  o'er  brothers'  hearts  to  shed. 
We  saw  their  white  wings,  wafting  them  afar, 
Set  in  the  ocean  like  a  tiny  star ; 
Two  nations'  hopes  were  shining  in  its  ray, 
Two  nations'  prayers  pressed  on  its  gleaming  way — 
Oh,  may  that  orb  upon  our  lost  ones  rise, 
And  gladden  with  its  beams  their  yearning  eyes ! 


38  THE    HEROES    OF   THE    LAST   LUSTKE. 

The  sun  bends  lingering,  with  golden  smile, 
O'er  three  rough  graves  that  furrow  Beechy  Isle ; 
The  wrinkled  cliff  hangs  half-protecting  o'er 
These  silent  dwellers  on  a  stranger  shore, 
And  gazing  down  his  brow  more  kindly  seems, 
And  lights  with  love  beneath  the  sunset  beams. 
"  Sacred,"  the  humble  words  of  sorrow  tell, 
"  To  those  who  served  their  God  and  country  well." 
This  the  sole  record  that  the  chill  earth  gave — 
Alas !  no  word  was  given  from  the  wave. 

Yet  not  alone — oh,  sadder  far  to  see 
The  relics  of  their  lonely  misery  : 
The  tale  of  hardship  written  there  they  found 
On  mound  and  ruin — graven  all  around. 
The  garden — but  no  fruit  or  flower  within ; 
The  hearth,  forsaken,  told  what  they  had  seen, — 
The  scanty  meal — the  chilled  and  starving  crew — 
Our  direst  dream  of  woe,  alas !  made  true. 
But  where  were  they,  the  missing  martyr-band? 
Fled  to  the  chill  embraces  of  the  land 


THE    HEROES    OF   THE    LAST    LUSTKE.  39 

"Whose  virgin  bosom,  white  with  dazzling  snows, 

Allures  the  wanderer  to  his  last  repose ! 

Upon  its  mother's  frozen,  marble  breast, 

The  heart  it  covered  sunk  at  last  to  rest, 

Her  infant  hangs,  and  strives  with  piteous  moan 

To  draw  some  nurture  from  its  orb  of  stone : 

Poor  babe !  alas,  that  ever  mother's  breast 

Should  for  her  young  provide  so  chill  a  nest  1 

Thus  beautiful  and  cold,  and  drear  and  bare, 

Earth  spreads  her  bosom  to  the  Arctic  air, 

And  offers  nothing  but  a  dream  and  death 

To  those  who  first  in  her  fond  arms  drew  breath: 

So  close  her  arms  around  the  true  and  brave 

Who  follow  Duty  but  to  find  a  grave. 


4:0         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 


IV. 

OH!   Hope  is  like  a  star! 

That  sends  its  rays  afar 

Through  the   dank  mists  and  night's   blackness 
streaming ; 

And  fainting  hearts  of  earth 

At  its  distant,  twinkling  birth 
In  gladness  lift  them  up  to  its  beaming. 

Oh !    Hope  is  like  the  moon  ! 

Night's  best  and  richest  boon, 
O'er  the  earth  soft  and  silver  raiment  throwing; 

When  she  lifts  her  white-plumed  crest 

From  her  dim  and  dingy  nest, 
'Neath  her  wings  mark  all  things  in  beauty  growing. 

Oh  !    Hope  is  like  the  sun  I 
When  his  march  has  begun, 
How  the  earth  fills  with  mirth  at  his  greeting! 


THE    HEKOES    OF   THE    LAST    LTJSTKE.  4:1 

And  the  little  starry  fear 
That  has  dared  his  head  uprear, 
At  the  glance  of  his  lance  flies  the  meeting ! 

Months  passed — yet  Hope  on  Fancy's  wing 

Explored  the  earth,  the  sea  and  air, 
And  Love  wherever  Hope  could  cling 

Would  fly  to  build  her  fond  dreams  there. 
Days  brought  no  tidings  of  the  lost— 

The  lost,  the  loved,  oh  where  were  they? 
"Weeks  from  the  lap  of  Time  were  tossed, 

And  floated  silently  away; 
And  now  Despair  with  stealthy  tread 

Entered  each  heart's  half^opened  door, 
But  Love  on  jealous  pinion  sped, 

Closed  it,  and  sat,  as  guard,  before. 
Down  from  the  North  with  shriek  and  cry 

The  wild  wind  poured  his  sweeping  horde ; 
"We  listened  as  his  train  passed  by, 

"We  could  not  catch  nor  sign  nor  word. 
"We  sought  the  graving  quaint,  the  frost 


42         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

On  lawn  and  leaf,  and  lakelet  leaves, 
And  all  (to  day  and  sunlight  lost) 

The  mystic  scrolls  the  snow-sprite  weaves : 
The  white-winged  winter-angels  flew 

O'er  Summer's  desolated  hearth, 
And  gently  as  a  mother  drew 

Their  coverlet  o'er  naked  earth; 
Far  o'er  the  land  their  white  host  roved, 

But  ghostlike  fled  at  Spring's  first  breath, 
And  left  no  message  from  our  loved — 

Our  loved  who  kept  their  watch  with  death ! 

A  small,  but  noble-hearted  band, 

For  dreary  days,  and  drearier  miles, 
They  travelled  through  the  northern  land, 
Across  the  hard  and  barren  strand 

The  sun  but  greets  with  summer  smiles. 
Their  tent  was  curtained  with  the  snow ; 

Their  guide  the  glittering,  cold  North-star; 
For  drink  they  bade  the  snow-heap  flow; 

Their  food — they  brought  it  from  afar, 


THE   HEROES    OF   THE   LAST    LUSTRE.  43 

For  on  these  plains  no  herb  can  grow ; 
Yet  kept  they  trustful  heart,  and  stout; 
The  fire  within — that  ne'er  burned  out. 

The  storm  stretched  out  his  hand, 

And  dreadful  was  his  form, 

The  angry,  howling  storm, 
And  with  a  frosty  curtain  hid  the  land, 

The  raging,  sweeping  storm ! 

The  storm  brought  forth  his  steed, 

From  his  pasture  unconfined 

The  strong  and  cruel  wind, 
And  lashed  him  panting  to  his  fiercest  speed, 

The  swift  and  treacherous  wind ! 

The  storm  arrayed  his  host, 

The  keen-lanced  hail  and  snow, 

The  myriad,  whelming  snow, 
And  with  his  ghostly  army  swept  the  coast, 

Of  hail  and  winged  snow ! 


44         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

The  snow,  the  merry  snow, 

'Twas  a  gentle  strain  it  played ; 

It  came  with  timid  step  and  slow, 

Like  the  feet  of  a  blushing  maid ; 

And  it  fell  and  sank  in  its  earthy  cup, 

And  the  thirsty  earth-clods  drank  it  up ! 
The  merry  snow  I 

The  snow,  the  merry  snow, 

'Twas  a  strange,  wild  strain  it  played ; 
The  lithe  flakes  staggered  to  and  fro 

Like  Bacchanals  on  a  raid  ; 
Then  they  made  on  the  ground  a  downy  nest, 
And  sank  in  sleep  on  each  other's  breast ! 
The  merry  snow  1 

The  snow,  the  merry  snow, 

'Twas  a  terrible  strain  it  played  ; 

Down  and  on  marched  its  white-plumed  row 
And  swept  with  its  host  the  glade ; 

Its  banner  was  hung  upon  every  tree, 


THE  HEKOES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTKE.         45 

And  the  white  hills  tented  its  soldiery ! 
The  merry  snow ! 

The  snow,  the  merry  snow, 

It  ceased  its  varied  strain, 
And  bade  the  wearied  wanderers  go. 

And  their  loved  and  lost  regain ; 
It  curtained  their  tent,  and  gave  them  drink, 
And  smoothed  their  path  to  the  ocean's  brink ! 

The  merry  snow! 

They  reached  at  last  a  distant  coast: 
And  here,  by  some  strange  fortune  tossed, 

In  misery  and  famine  bound, 

With  snow  and  silence  all  around, 
An  Indian  settlement  they  found. 
The  Indians,  when  they  spied  the  face 

Of  white  man,  drew  them  in  their  tent, 

And  aid  and  kindly  succor  lent ; 
And  soon  unfolded  to  their  gaze 

Their  treasures — relics  of  our  lost, 

* 


46  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    LAST    LUSTRE. 

The  lost  and  loved,  the  true  and  brave, 
"Who  far  away  had  found  a  grave, 

Thrown  starving  on  this  savage  coast. 

By  their  low  huts,  oh  joy !  they  found — 
Alas!  it  was  a  funeral  mound. 

Their  fate  they  sought  by  signs  to  know; 
And  from  their  uncouth  gestures  crept 
Such  sense  of  suffering  and  woe 

That  e'en  the  stoutest  sailor  wept. 
These  told  how  in  the  iceberg's  grip, 
Shattered,  had  sunk  their  noble  ship  ; 
How  famine  shrank  each  manly  cheek, 
And  bowed  the  strong,  and  crushed  the  weak ; 
How  nobly  clung  they  side  by  side, 
And  held  them  up  against  the  tide — 
But  how  at  last,  they  drooped  and  died. 

They  sought  if  any  there  could  tell 

In  words  what  signs  had  limned  full  well: 

• 


THE  HEROES    OF   THE   LAST   LUSTBE.  47 

Then  thus  an  Indian  woman  spoke — 
Yet  sometimes  rising  grief  would  choke, 
And  tears  adown  her  swarthy  face 
In  rapid  flight  would  wildly  chase, 
As  down  the  dusky  cheek  of  Night 
The  falling  stars  hold  glittering  flight : 

"  'Twas  here,  upon  this  little  isle — 

In  winter-time  a  dreary  pile 

Of  wall  and  tower  of  sea-tossed  ice, 

Fit  for  a  Norseman's  paradise; 

But  now  by  rays  of  midnight  sun 

To  some  rude  look  of  beauty  won — 

Here  landed  in  the  stormy  night, 

Three  winters  since,  (if  I  count  right 

The  suns  since  then  that  set  and  rose 

Upon  this  wilderness  of  snows,) 

A  little,  haggard,  pilgrim  band, 

Seeking  the  shelter  of  the  strand 

To  die — for  they  were  pale  and  bowed, 

And  fragile  as  the  noonday  cloud : 


48         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

White  as  the  mummied  hills  around, 

In  swathing  snow-shroud  ever  bound, 

Standing  in  this  great  crypt  of  Time 

Sameness  and  silence  make  sublime  1 

Or  like  the  Ice-king's  frozen  breath, 

When,  dreaming  on  his  fleecy  heath, 

Creatures  of  thin  and  flimsy  mould 

To  ghastly  life  by  it  are  foaled. 

We  thought  them  drifting  clouds  of  snow, 

As  sometimes  sudden  whirlwinds  blow 

The  curling  sleet,  until  the  coasts 

Seem  stormed  and  sieged  by  armied  ghosts: 

So  pale  and  gaunt  and  shadowy  they, 

They  seemed  the  dreams  of  men  made  clay  ! 

"Here  crouched  beneath  this  little  hill, 
Their  snow-huts ;  by  this  frozen  rill 
They  placed  their  only  boat — alas! 
They  knew  not  it  would  never  pass 
The  buoyant  wave  again,  but  rot 
Upon  this  shore,  with  them,  forgot; 


THE    HEROES    OF   THE    LAST    LUSTRE.  49 

Here  is  the  only  fragment,  see ! 

A  shadow  of  its  bravery. 
Here  was  their  home — there  is  their  grave — 
Where  watch  and  ward  keep  wind  and  wave. 

' 

"  I  pass  the  fearful  winter  by ; 
The  cold  that  glazed  the  living  eye; 
The  famine  that  with  maddening  hand 
Clutched  at  the  heart-strings  of  their  band; 
(We  sometimes  brought  them  food,  but  we 
Could  share  with  them  but  poverty ;) 
The  storm  that  urged  his  furious  host 
Sudden  and  swift  along  the  coast, 
And  with  his  sword  the  wind,  that  rent 
The  icy  curtains  of  their  tent ; 

The  home  mementos,  one  by  one, 

To  feed  the  flame  that  Varmed  them,  gone ; 
The  Death  that  furled  his  pallid  wing 
And  sat  upon  their  hearthstones,  king ! 
To  whom  they  daily  bent  the  knee 

And  owned  his  fearful  sovereignty. 

4 


50  THE    HEROES   OF   THE   LAST    LUSTRE. 

Yet,  morn  and  eve,  we  oft  could  hear 
The  full  hymn  rising  sweet  and  clear; 

High  o'er  the  tempest's  shriek  it  rose — 
It  dirged  the  twilight's  peaceful  close, 
"When  (for  an  angel's  voice  they  heard) 
The  listening  echoes  never  stirred. 

"The  Midnight  Sun  rose  shining  now 
Upon  their  graves'  long,  peaceful  row, 
"Where  side  by  side  they  calmly  slept, 
"While  tearful  watch  the  living  kept. 

The  living !  oh,  more  dead  were  they  I 
Pale  as  the  twilight  ghost  of  day, 
Gaunt,  ghastly  forms  of  pulsing  clay : 
Day  after  day  they  drooped  and  died, 
And  Life  and  Death  dwelt  side  by  side. 
One  still  survived :  I  saw  him  stand 
Alone  upon  the  mocking  strand, 
And  stretch  his  hands  towards  the  sea, 
And  call  and  sigh  most  mournfully. 
He  was  the  largest  of  them  all, 


THE   HEROES    OF   THE    LAST    LUSTRE.  51 

Of  strongest  frame  and  gaunt  and  tall ; 
Only  such  strength  as  his  could  bear 
The  breathing  of  our  frozen  air ; 

Yet  he  was  wasting  day  by  day, 

As  mists  at  sunrise  fade  away, 

Pierced  by  the  sunbeam's  fiery  ray. 
Alone  he  lived — if  living  be 
To  share  a  couch  with  misery ; 
Nor  yet  alone — starvation  kept 
His  watch  above  him  while  he  slept, 
And  eked  him,  when  awake,  a  scrap 
Torn  from  the  frozen  ocean's  lap : 

His  drink  was  of  the  melted  snow — 

'Twas  all  around,  above,  below! 

"I  daily  saw  him  bending  o'er 

A  little  spot  up  from  the  shore, 

Where  first  the  sunbeams  sought  the  ground. 

I  wondered  oft  what  he  had  found, 

Some  little  plant  or  northern  flower 

In  sunny  nook  that  makes  its  bower; 


0  THE    HEROES    OF   THE    LAST   LUSTRE. 

Or  little  creature  of  the  earth: 
I  knew  that  it  had  given  birth 
To  some  strange  thoughts  of  sad  unrest 
Within  the  lonely  stranger's  breast; 
For  I  had  marked  him  dash,  one  day, 
The  tear-drops  from  his  cheek  away, 
As  fast  they  fell,  while  he  bent  o'er 
His  shrined  treasure  on  the  shore. 

"  One  morn  I  took  a  dish  of  food, 
And  softly  stepping  by  him  stood 
Before  he  heard,  then  proffered  held 
What  once  his  starving  pride  repelled. 
A  moment  gazing,  then  he  took 
The  gift  with  tearful,  thankful  look, 
That  carried  blessings,  and  he  strove 
By  wistful  eye  his  thanks  to  prove. 
If  you  have  marked  the  Northern  Light, 
Hasting  to  crown  the  waiting  night, 
Fade  soft  into  the  tender  ray 
That  makes  night  lovlier  than  the  day, 


THE  HEKOE8  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.         5S 

So  seemed  his  face  while  fitful  smile 
Lit  up  its  saddened  look  the  while. 
It  must  have  been,  in  that  sad  dearth 
Of  any  kindly  thing  of  earth, 
Some  comfort  once  again  to  hear 
A  human  voice,  though  to  his  ear 
The  accents  were  uncouth  and  rude, 
That  broke  his  utter  solitude  ; 
And  once  again  to  meet  an  eye 
Upraised  to  his  in  sympathy. 

"I  often  came.    We  sat,  we  two, 
Though  neither's  words  the  other  knew, 
And  smiled  and  talked  by  sign  and  look, 
Each  other's  faces  our  best  book : 
Yet  I  would  learn  ;  and  soon  I  knew 
Enough  to  gain  his  story's  clue. 
He  told  me  of  his  English  home, 
The  dear  spot  he  had  journeyed  from, 
That  nevermore  again  should  know 
His  footstep ;  and  the  fireside  glow, 


54         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

The  beacon  lighted  all  in  vain 
For  one  'twill  never  greet  again. 
The  eyes — oh,  brighter  far,  he  said — 
Whose  tears  flowed  over  him  as  dead ; 
The  while  fond  Love  outwatched  Despair, 
And  cried,  at  every  step,  'He's  there.' 
He  told  how  rainbows  bent  them  down 
Upon  the  sward;  and  golden  crown 
Of  grain  upon  the  hillside  shone, 
And  girt  the  land  with  sunny  zone. 
I  asked  if  he  feared  not  the  while 
He  stayed  caged  in  this  little  isle, 
Some  foe  would  smite  his  distant  home 
Until  its  hearth-fires  sank  in  gloom: 
Then  up  he  looked,  and  with  a  smile 
(It  made  my  heart  beat  high  the  while) 
He  spread  his  hands  abroad  in  air, 

1  Woman,  my  God  is  everywhere.' 

V 

"We  in  our  simple  legends  tell 
Of  angels  wont  with  man  to  dwell, 


THE   HEROES    OF   THE    LAST   LTJSTKE.  55 

Till  frightened  at  a  brother's  blood 

Poured  out  to  calm  some  hellish  mood, 

On  glittering  wing  afar  they  fled: 

And  then  this  pall  of  ice  o'erspread 

The  fated  land,  which  once  had  shone 

In  rival  richness  with  the  sun. 

Afar  they  fled;  their  wings  they  furled 

Far  from  the  clamors  of  the  world; 

Yet  in  the  night  you  still  can  see 

Their  tent-fires  shining  distantly. 

That  cloud  above— a  mist  it  seems; 

"With  myriad  angel  forms  it  teems, 

Clustered  so  close,  each  angel  face 

Sinks  in  another's  pure  embrace. 

Again  they'll  come  (so  runs  our  lore), 
And  crown  with  loveliness  this  shore. 

I  thought  when  first  he  spake,  that  he 

"Was  of  this  angel  company ; 

And  half  I  feared,  and  looked  my  awe: 

But  he,  when  such  a  look  he  saw, 

"Would  speak  of  God,  and  of  his  love, 


56         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

The  Saviour-God  for  man  who  strove; 
Until  at  morn  and  eve  I  knelt 
To  yield  to  God  the  love  I  felt. 

"He  took  me  to  the  little  spot 

Of  which  I  told — a  tiny  plot 

Of  barren  ground ;  yet  in  his  eyes 

In  all  the  North  no  lovelier  prize  : 

For  here,  thrown  out  by  heedless  hand, 

Or  sown  in  hope  on  that  bleak  strand, 

A  seed,  by  kindly  sunbeam  reared, 

Peeped  timidly,  as  if  it  feared 

In  this  strange  clime  the  northern  wind 

A  shroud  of  snow  would  'round  it  bind. 

A  slender  stick  (hewn  from  a  boat 

Never  again  on  wave  to  float) 

Supported  it;  while  fast  it  hung, 

And  with  its  tendrils  closely  clung : 

One  sweet  white  flower  was  half  outspread, 

Scenting  the  breeze  that  by  it  fled ; — 

Its  pure  white  face,  its  dress  of  green, 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.         57 

The  fairest  picture  ever  seen. 
Daily  it  throve,  and  filled  the  air 
"With  wondrous  songs  of  sweetness  rare. 

"He  loved  it  as  a  little  child, 
That  stout  old  sailor;  it  beguiled 
The  dreary  hours  of  lonely  thought, 
And  home-scenes  to  his  memory  brought. 
I  knew  his  life  was  wrapt  in  it ; 
Oft  have  I  watched  him,  musing,  sit 
And  smile  as  if  the  flower  had  thrown 
Its  arms  about  him,  and  had  grown 
Into  his  heart,  and  blooming  there, 
"With  sweetest  fragrance  filled  the  air. 
So  close  to  his  lone  heart  it  clung, 
Such  home-born  sweets  around  it  flung, 
I  knew  that  should  it  droop  and  die, 
With  its  frail  life  his  life  would  fly. 

"  I  looked — I  could  no  longer  see  ; 
The  burning  tears  were  blinding  me. 


58         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Then  down  I  eat  upon  the  sands, 
And  hid  my  face  within  my  hands, 
Till  I  could  some  control  regain. 
A  moment — I  looked  up  again — 
And  as  the  glancing  sunlight  shone 
His  richly  yellow  locks  upon, 
He  seemed  as  oftentimes  he  told 
How  martyrs  shone  in  crowns  of  gold. 
But  well  I  marked  his  cheek  had  paled, 
And  death-lines  o'er  his  face  had  trailed 
And  left  their  footprints  on  his  brow. 
So  ghastly  thin  had  he  grown  now, 
Pallid  and  gaunt,  he  seemed  to  be 
More  ghost  than  of  mortality. 
I  knew  Death's  seal;  and  more  I  wept; 
And  closer  to  his  side  I  crept, 
And  took  his  hand,  and  tried  to  prove, 
If  homeless,  he  had  still  found  love. 

"  Twas  summer-time :  but  whether  morn, 
Or  eve,  or  midday,  or  night's  dawn, 


THE    HEKOE8   OF   THE    LAST   LUSTRE.  59 

I  could  not  tell.    The  Midnight  Sun 

His  long,  long  course  had  nearly  run : 

And  now  he  rested  on  the  peak 

Of  yon  great  iceberg  grimly  bleak, 

But  over  which  he  then  had  thrown 

His  loosened  garments'  fiery  zone, 

Until  it,  gorgeous,  seemed  to  be 

A  palace  lit  for  revelry ; 

And  gazing  up,  the  humbler  hills 

In  wonder  stared,  as  growing  rills 

Of  splendor  poured  adown  their  side 

And  swept  the  land  with  molten  tide. 

There  he,  upon  its  battlement 

In  golden  splendor  idly  leant ; 

Gazing  upon  his  boundless  sway, 

On  every  side  stretched  far  away ; 

Or  dreaming  of  the  dead,  perchance, 

Who'd  sought  a  grave  in  his  loved  haunts : 

And  then  his  glance  fell  soft  and  long 

Upon  the  graveyard's  little  throng, 


60  THE    HEROES    OF   THE    LAST   LUSTRE. 

As  loath  to  leave  to  dreary  night 
The  spot  his  love  so  long  made  bright. 

"  I  know  not  why,  but  I  felt  awed : 

The  icy  desert  seemed  so  broad ; 

The  pale-browed  mountains  frowned  on  me, 

It  seemed  in  tenfold  majesty ; 

And  ocean  kept  his  deep-green  eye 

Glittering  upon  me  wistfully, 

As  coiled  in  many  a  wavy  fold 

Against  the  slimy  cliff  and  cold, 

He  hid  his  tongue  of  hissing  spray 

And  slumbered  watchful  for  his  prey. 

The  wind  was  hushed ;  the  breeze  had  died ; 

My  very  breathing  terrified ; 

As  lightly  gliding  from  my  tent, 

Forth  on  my  wonted  way  I  went. 

"  O  God  !  the  flower  was  crushed  and  dead ! 
Afar  its  pure  young  life  had  fled — 
The  flower !     I  scarcely  paused  to  see 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.          61 

Its  white  cheek  sullied  ruthlessly. 

I  saw  but  it!     It  was  not  he, 

That  clod  of  pale  mortality ! 

With  iron  stride  the  death  had  come, 

And  smote  the  vigor  with  the  bloom ! 

Spared  not  the  flower,  and  bowed  the  tree, 

And  stole  its  heavenly  livery ! 

A  smile  was  there — the  soul  had  fled — 

And  left  me  lonely  with  my  dead. 

"The  sun  upraised  his  golden  spear, 
And,  fleeing  from  the  dreadful  sight, 
Threw  back  his  shield  of  blackest  night 

Upon  the  desert  white  and  drear : 
And  where  his  spear-head  touched  the  sky, 
One  single  star  shone  mournfully — 
"We  were  alone,  the  star  and  I." 


II. 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.         65 


Sorrowful  stars,  so  sadly  o'er  me  bending, 

What  measures  do  ye  sing? 

Where   have    your   silent    steps   through   space    been 
wending — 

What  message  do  ye  bring? 
What  fearful  deeds  freight  now  your  pallid  lips, 
Of  faithless  love,  or  life's  death-hid  eclipse, 

Or  joy  gone  sorrowing  ? 

We've  wandered  far  o'er  earth's  dark  places  shining 
With  loving,  brightening  glance  ; 

In  our  deep  hearts  her  deeds  of  glory  shrining — 
And  in  her  hero  haunts, 

Oh  !   feats  of  prowess  have  we  witnessed  there, 

Which  Fame  forever  on  her  tongue  shall  bear 

The  listening  world  to  trance. 
5 


66  THE   HEKOE8   OF  THE   LAST   LUSTRE. 

Beautiful  stars,  through  yon  blue  ocean  gleaming ; 

The  angels'  burnished  shells ! 
Your  snow-white  breasts  with  heavenly  echoes  teeming, 

What  strain  now  earthward  swells? 
Does  Yalor  on  the  field  of  strife  lie  dead, 
Or  Fame  uphold  the  dying  hero's  head, 

His  loss  while  Freedom  knells  ? 

"We  marked  the  field  of  death  and  fiercest  warring, 

Where,  numberless  as  we, 
The  gory  dead  the  flowery  mead  lay  marring — 

Sleeping  all  peacefully 
The  hero  host  lay  facing  still  the  foe, 
Still  grasped  the  sword,  still  bent  the  desperate  brow, 

Still  glowered  fearfully. 

Glorious  stars,  in  yon  great  temple  swinging, 

The  seraphs'  rich-voiced  bells  ! 
Touched  by  their  hands  a  flood  of  love  far  flinging, 

That  busy  earth  compels 
To  list  its  melody — what  hero  names, 


THE   HEROES   OF   THE   LAST   LUSTRE.  67 

The  world's  no  longer,  but  forever  Fame's, 
Are  these  your  sweet  chime  tells  ? 

Count  thou  our  host !     As  many  braves  are  sleeping 

On  far  Crimean  plain — 
As  many  hero  souls  sad  hearts  are  weeping, 

Not  here  to  greet  again ! 

But  bright  as  we  their  names  shall  shine  for  aye, 
They  shall  outlast,  with  us,  earth's  little  day 

And  Time's  brief,  glow-worm  reign  1 

Crashing  through  the  rocky  vale 
Came  the  cannon's  dreadful  hail, 
While  its  wings  of  thunder  made 
Earth,  and  sea,  and  sky  afraid 

At  that  first  cry  of  war ! 
Then  a  thousand  voices  rent 
O'er  the  field  the  sunlight's  tent, 

And  spread  the  chorus  far. 
Now,  rank  on  rank,  their  glittering  fold 
On  the  trembling  plain  unrolled, 


68  THE   HEROES   OF  THE   LAST   LUSTRE. 

Till  the  barren  autumn  wold 

Blazed  with  gleaming  steel  and  gold, 

Plumes  and  martial  bravery : 
Ked  and  blue  their  banners'  sheen 
Shone  the  bristling  ranks  between, 

Of  Gaul  and  Albion's  soldiery ! 

On  the  rugged  mountain  height, 
Dense  and  grey  by  morning  light, 
Long  a  heavy  mist  had  slept: 
Now  adown  the  slope  it  crept, 
Steady  as  a.  torrent,  flowing, 
Darker,  deeper,  denser  growing, 
Far  and  wide  its  grey  arms  throwing — 
Till  its  cheek  the  sunbeam  kissed ; 
Then  the  dark  and  silent  mist 
Gleamed  with  serried  bayonets'  glance, 
Shone  with  Cossack's  glittering  lance, 

Blazed  with  helm,  and  sword,  and  spear, 
Rang  with  orders  shrill  and  clear, 
Pealed  with  drum's  inspiring  clang, 


THE   HEROES   OF   THE   LAST   LUSTRE.  69 

"With  the  trumpet's  war-notes  rang — 
Finding  echoes  in  the  glen 
And  the  valiant  hearts  of  men ! 

"The  Russ !"    They  come,  a  gleaming  wave 
Of  warriors  stout,  and  true,  and  brave — 

And  down  the  hill  it  sweeps ! 
"  They  fly  !"   the  coward  Moslem  fly  1  t 

The  crescent  droops  ingloriously 

Above  their  murdered  heaps! 
Onward  through  the  smoke  and  din 
Still  their  way  the  Russians  win : 
As  a  wave  of  ocean, 
In  its  whirling  motion, 
Hurls  stone  and  shell 
On  the  waiting  coast, 

Where  its  threatening  swell 
Is  broken  and  lost, 
So  ball  and  shell,  a  fearful  tide,  ' 
Scatter  destruction  far  and  wide, 
From  their  ranks,  glancing, 


70         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Onward  advancing! 

Now,  Campbell !   on  your  Highland  rock 
Receive  and  break  the  tempest's  shock  1 

Nearer — mother,  pray, 

For  your  son  this  day! 
As  lightning  from  the  heavens  sent, 
That  flash  of  deadly  fire  has  rent 

Their  bannered  host : 
And,  like  a  ship  by  tempest  riven, 
That  host  about  the  field  is  driven, 

In  direst  tumult  tost ! 

Ha!   Scarlett  rides  before  his  ranks  1 
They  sent  the  strife  afar, 
Those  glorious  steeds  of  war, 

And  hoof  resounds,  and  sabre  clanks. 
Now  Scot,  and  Erin's  son, 
To-day  your  heart  is  one, 
Onward  for  Albion ! 

It  breaks !   the  Russian  squadron  breaks ! 

For  a  brief  moment  quivers — shakes — 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Then  through  their  chaff  strewn  far  and  wide 
The  British  cohorts  grimly  ride, 
And  turn  and  look  them  for  the  foe: 
Gone — as  when  winter  whirlwinds  blow  1 

Brave  Nolan!   with  the  dead 
Thy  tearful  comrades  found 
The  corpse  whose  life  had  fled 

Forth  from  the  proud  breast- wound : 
Peaceful  thy  rest, 
Bravest  and  best ! 
Quick  o'er  the  field  he  spurred 
And  brought  the  waited  word : 
"  On !  Light  Brigade  !    On  !  on  !"  he  cried, 
And  drew  his  sabre  by  their  side 
To  join  them  in  that  wild  death-ride. 
Onward,  each  gallant  heart  replied ; 
Here  let  the  brave 
Find  victor's  grave. 
O  God !    they  ride  to  death ! 
Hushed  was  each  hero's  breath, 


72  THE   HEROES   OF   THE   LAST   LUSTRE. 

As  onward  they  sped 
To  enlist  with  the  dead. 
Like  a  cloud  of  crimson  hue 
In  the  sunset's  lap  that  grew, 
Crimson  necked  with  white  and  gold, 
Sped  they  o'er  the  trembling  wold ! 
Proudly  glancing  in  the  sun, 
How  each  burnished  sabre  shone ! 
As  a  gaping,  deep-mouthed  cave 
"Waits  to  gulf  the  crested  wave, 
That  the  merry  sunbeams  lave, 
So  the  hollow  Russian  square 

Waits  the  brave 

In  its  lair. 

Right,  and  left,  and  front,  they  flashed  I 
Through  their  ranks  the  iron  crashed, 
Deadly  as  the  breath  of  Hell ! 

Brave  six  hundred, 

When  they  thundered, 
Rang  your  funeral  knell. 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTEE.          73 

But  Cardigan  was  there ! 

Bright  flashed  his  sabre  in  the  air — 

The  remnant  closed  upon  his  rear 

And  onward  sped  with  shout  and  cheer, 
Not  theirs  the  thought  of  fear. 

Past  the  guns  like  flames  they  swept, 

At  each  blow  a  mother  wept ; 

Every  comrade's  soul  that  day 

Met  a  foeman's  on  its  way. 

Sheathed  at  last  the  dripping  sword, 
O'er  the  field  of  death  they  spurred ; 

Sadly  back  their  course  they  bore, 

Black  with  smoke  and  red  with  gore. 

That  morn  six  hundred  warriors  rode 
Across  the  field  of  death  and  blood — 
Two  hundred  wounded  troopers  drew 
The  rein  when  fell  the  evening  dew. 

Thus  was  Balaklava's  name 
Written  in  the  Book  of  Fame. 


74:         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 
*         *         #         * 

Angelic  stars!   ye  souls  of  Poets  pining 

In  chains  of  liquid  flame, 
Until,  grown  pure,  within  some  heart  enshrining, 

Earth  shall  resound  jour  fame  : 
Does  any  hero-hymn  from  earth  arise, 
Or  any  herald  of  the  silent  skies 

A  deed  for  song  proclaim  ? 

Hush  !   hear  you  from  the  orphaned  earth  arising, 

As  summer  day's  last  sigh, 
A  low,  sweet  strain  of  sorrow,  sympathizing 

With  the  o'erflowing  eye  ? 

Oh  weep !     And  in  the  boundless  heaven  of  love, 
Each  glittering  tear  unto  thy  soul  shall  prove 

A  star  that  ne'er  will  die. 

Mysterious  stars,  through  dusky  cavern  flitting, 
The  ancient  myth-writ  leaves, 

That  Night,  the  Sibyl,  in  her  dark  fane  sitting, 
To  suppliant  mortal  gives — 


THE   HEROES   OF   THE   LAST   LUSTRE.  75 

Head  me  your  tale  of  high  and  manly  worth, 
That  like  the  spring-flower  in  its  very  birth 
The  waiting  hill  bereaves. 

Now  Spring,  with  a  bright  smile  diademed, 

And  her  fresh  young  cheeks  with  tear-drops  gemmed, 

Weeping  the  wrecks  of  the  winter's  strife, 

And  smiling  the  tender  buds  to  life, 

Had  peeped  but  once  on  the  barren  plain, 

And  sobbed  a  deluge  of  tender  rain — • 

Then  hid  in  her  frosty  bed  again. 

Oh,  dismal  it  was  within  the  wood, 

Whose  sons,  awaiting  her  coming,  stood 

With  arms  o'erloaded  with  branches  green, 

(Beneath  their  brown  coats  springing  unseen,) 

And  summer  jewels  of  jasper  sheen 

Saved  from  the  whirlwind's  searching  wrath, 

Ready  to  strew  in  her  welcomed  path ! 

Dismal  it  was  in  the  garden  plot, 

Where  the  Spring's  mild  rule  had  been  forgot — 

Where  the  mouldering  weed  held  loathsome  reign, 


76  THE   HEROES   OF   THE   LAST   LUSTRE. 

And  sighed,  in  cracked  and  discordant  strain, 

To  the  cooing  breeze  the  golden  song 

He  had  heard  the  summer  buds  among. 

And  dismal  it  was  upon  the  hill 

"Where  the  water's  clank  was  never  still — 

For  the  bursting  heart  of  the  little  rill, 

Held  in  the  ice's  pitiless  hand 

And  tightly  bound  in  its  silver  band, 

Was  throbbing  to  kiss  the  foot  of  Spring, 

And  greet  her  with  songs  he  loves  to  sing! 

Dismal  it  was  on  the  barren  slope, 

Where  the  earth's  brown  hand  was  once  more  ope 

For  the  ring  which  her  Doge,  the  burning  sun, 

Drops  her  great  eager  palm  upon — 

A  glorious  ring  of  dazzling  flowers 

Gilt  by  the  sunbeams — jewelled  by  showers. 

No  bud  had  brightened  the  hill-side  yet, 

But  the  sweet  meek  face  of  the  violet — 

Calmly  she  raised  her  mild  blue  eye, 

And  gazed  unmoved  on  the  frowning  sky: 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.         77 

Emblem  of  Faith!   she  scented  afar 

The  breezes  that  drew  the  Spring's  light  car ! 

The  cold  March  wind  arose  in  his  might, 

And  swept  through  the  silent  streets  of  night, 

And  scaled  the  heights  of  her  cloud-wrapt  wall, 

Sounding  the  Winter's  dying  call. 

Fierce  waged  the  battle — with  shriek  and  cry 

Clamored  the  wild  wind  through  the  sky, 

And  dashed  his  legions  against  the  host 

Of  night  in  numberless  numbers  lost ! 

Earth  groaned  in  her  motherly  heart  to  see 

A  struggle  that  waged  so  pitilessly. 

But  the  orbs  were  thinking  of  higher  themes, 

And  dreamed  in  their  couch  of  blue  sweet  dreams 

Of  saintly  souls  that  were  coming  to  dwell 

In  the  light  of  each  heavenly  citadel : 

Night  with  a  jealous  hand  had  spread 

A  curtain  of  clouds  about  their  bed 

To  hide  from  her  darling's  sight  the  scene, 


78  THE    HEROES    OF   THE    LAST    LUSTRE. 

And  softly  they  slept  in  slumber  serene. 

Grimly  they  towered  above  the  fray, 

Crimea's  mountain-tops,  gaunt  and  grey: 

They  caught  in  their  hollow  hearts  the  tone 

Of  the  panting  whirlwind's  passionate  moan, 

And  laughed  "  Ha  !   ha !"  in  their  breast  of  stone  1 

But  meekly  they  raised  their  snowy  head, 

To  watch  the  shining  heralds  that  sped, 

Bearing  with  joy  through  the  gladdened  air 

The  incense  pure  of  the  soldier's  prayer ! 

And  there  in  the  voiceless  streets  of  space, 

Borne  with  the  comet's  breathless  pace 

And  footstep  of  flame,  they  saw  afar 

The  winged  steeds  and  the  fiery  car ! 

'Twas  coming  for  him  who  in  rest  serene 

On  the  brow  of  the  deep  and  dark  ravine, 

In  dreams  through  the  haunts  of  his  far  home  roved, 

And  looked  on  the  faces  that  most  he  loved. 

His  wearied  men  lay  sleeping  around, 

Pillowed  upon  the  comfortless  ground — 

Each  shedding  his  blood,  in  dreams  of  strife, 


THE    HEROES    OF  THE    LAST   LUSTRE.  79 


To  quicken  his  leader's  precious  life. 

Dream  on,  O  soldier !     O'er  thy  soul,  in  air, 

Poised  like  an  angel  stands  the  trustful  prayer — 

And,  sentinels,  beside  thy  stony  couch 

Two  hundred  valiant  hearts  of  heroes  crouch. 

It  is  the  wild-flower  blooming  on  the  rich  old  Eng 
lish  sward, 

Spring's  first  bright  jewel  wedded  to  its  fingers  brown 
and  hard : 

It  grows  within  the  valley,  'tis  the  first  dear  place  it 
greets, 

"Where  breeze  and  brook  are  battling  for  the  guerdon 
of  its  sweets. 

Here,  in  the  smiling  summer,  many  dreary  years  ago, 

The  bright  buds  hung  their  jealous  heads  at  child 
hood's  ruddier  glow, 

And  little  bare  feet  dimpled  the  stream's  pale  sober 
cheek, 

And  made  it  from  its  quiet  heart  a  silvery  welcome 
speak. 


80         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Its  theme  is  now  the   curling   smoke  that  rises   o'er 
the  wood, 

"WTiere  the  home   that  held   and  loved   thee   in   thy 
merry  childhood  stood : 

Sometimes  we  hear  a  murmur  from  its  little  patient  / 
heart, 

Mingling  with   its  sweetest  songs  as  an   echo-chorus, 
start — 

But  we  would  not  breathe  the  thought,  nor  trespass 
on  the  dream 

That  perchance,  long  years  ago,  woo'd   the  coy  ro 
mantic  stream. 

Now  through  the  valley  passing  by  each  well-remem 
bered  tree, 

That   in   boyhood   was  a  playmate,   and  will  yet  a 
mourner  be — 

Still  thy  hospitable  home  is  opening  wide  its  door, 

And  wears  the  self-same  greeting  that  in  olden  times 
it  bore : 

And   flitting  up  and   down   the   lawn    are   ghosts   of 
days  gone  by, 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.         81 

Poor  sprites  !    that  now  are  dancing  to  the  music  of 

a  sigh  ! 
Up  the  cold  stone  wall  it  clambers  with  fingers  red 

and  torn, 
Clinging  to  the  rugged  rocks  that  its  close  embraces 

scorn, 
A  little  vine  so  slender  that  the  summer-sprite  would 

fear 

To  move  it  with  a  murmur,  or  to  bow  it  with  a  tear. 
It  has  clambered   to  the  window  of  the  little  room 

above, 
From   which    thy   infant     footsteps    first    world-ward 

learned  to  rove ; 
And   one  blue   eye  has  opened,  on  this  strange   and 

jarring  earth, 
Whose  sweetest  sight  was  present  to   greet  it  at  its 

birth. 
Perhaps  some  shining  minister  of  that  fair  train  who 

bring 
Their  garnered  scents  and  beauties  to  grace  the  throne 

of  Spring — 


82  THE    HEROES    OF   THE    LAST    LUSTRK. 

Reading  in  her  rapid  flight  the  tale  of  love  forgot, 
Stopped  lingering  a  moment  to  weep  its  lonely  lot, 
And  gave  that  its  first  blossom  should  view  the  holi 
est  sight 

"With  which  this  harsh  and  heedless  world  could  its 
pure  heart  delight. 

Ay — it  is  thy  mother  praying — praying  for  thee,  war- 

rior  brave; 
Praying,  though   her   thoughts   are    kneeling   by   the 

stillness  of  thy  grave ! 
She  has  ceased  to  hope  that  here  her  son  will  to  her 

arms  be  given, 
But  she  prays  that  she  may  meet  him  in  the  holiness 

of  Heaven. 
Now,  patter,  patter,  patter,  on  her  dry  and  parching 

heart 
Fall  the  healing  drops  of  comfort  from  the  clouds  of 

God  that  start — 
And  forth  the  blossoms  twinkle  pure  as  lilies  of  the 

vale 


THE    HEROES    OF    THE    LAST    LUSTRE.  83 

That  are  the  silver  footprints   in   the  April   shower's 

trail. 

Fear  not  to  weep,  O  soldier ! — an  angel  standeth  near 
To  string  in  diamond  coronet  each  pure   and   manly 

tear ! 

An  hour — and  they  will  jewel  the  circle  of  thy  head, 
For  crowned  with  tears  a  mortal  only  to  his  King  is 

led. 

They  are  sitting  in  the  room  where  the  thoughts  of 
dead  men  stand 

As  mummies  swathed  and  lettered  by  the  skilled  em- 
balmer's  hand. 

A  brand  is  slowly  dying  on  the  ample  old  hearth 
stone — 

Like  hopes  they  nicker  up  and  die,  the  lithe  sparks, 
one  by  one : 

The  sun  and  fire  have  entered  the  field  of  deadly 
strife, 

And  one  bright  beam  is  seeking  the  failing  ember's 
life. 


84:  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    LAST    LUSTRE. 

Fair  as  summer  and  the  noon  (when  clustering  roses 
throw 

The  shadow  of  their  fragrance  on  the  air's  too  lovely 
glow — 

When  June  in  silent  thankfulness  is  stretching  out  to 
God 

Her  leafy  hands,  a-tremble  at  the  breezes'  wayward 
nod) — 

Are  those  two  gentle  faces  that  watch  the  dying  brand 

In  the  purer  rays  of  sunshine  poured  from  God's  all- 
blessing  hand. 

In  the  silence  of  their  thoughts  they  sit  and  watch 
with  dreamy  eye 

The  future's  fairy  phantoms  pass  lingeringly  by ; 

And  one  has  built  within  her  heart  a  holy  shrine  to 

Hope- 
But  hers  to  Love's  twin  cherubim  for  evermore  is  ope. 

One  is  dreaming  of  the  day  when  earth's  brown  cheek 
will  blush 

With  deeply-crimsoned  roses  and  the  bud's  more  ten 
der  flush ; 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.          85 

And  on  the  fields'  deep  bosom  will  gently  be  unrolled 

The  wavy  grain  as  dazzling  as  an  angel's  tress  of  gold  ; 

When  her  king  will  sing  his  anthem  of  sunshine  to 
the  earth, 

And  waken  her  from  dreary  sleep  to  summer  scenes 
of  mirth — • 

Until  her  full  heart  heaves  and  swells  to  join  the 
golden  strain 

In  choruses  of  leaf  and  flower  from  breeze-enamored 
plain : 

For  then  a  brother's  tender  love  will  lend  the  sum 
mer  bloom, 

And  throw  fresh  fragrance  o'er  the  hills  and  daisied 
meads  of  Home. 

But  she,  the  dearer  of  the  twain — what  happy  visions 

guard 
Her  speechless  lips,  and  o'er  her  voice  keep  long  and 

silent  ward  ? 
Her  fond  thought,  hand  in  hand  with  love,  adown  the 

woodland  flees, 


86         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

To  the  little  church  whose  ivied  brow  peeps  through 

the  naked  trees : 
Tis  summer,  and  the  fond  earth  tells  before  her  lord, 

the  sun, 
The  rosary  of  flowers  he  clasped  her  beauteous  breast 

upon; 
The  bells  are  ringing  sweetly  out  upon  the  listening 

air, 
Whose    zephyrs   swift   its   music    to   the    glades    and 

mountains  bear — 
And   underneath    this   arch   of   chime,   and    o'er   the 

velvet  grass, 
Up   through   the   massive   oaken   door,  a  little  party 

pass — 

Hist !  hist !     The  mountain  sprite 
Scares  the  dull  and  drowsy  night 

With  his  cries ; 
Or  it  is  the  step  of  friends 
Whom  our  kindly  ally  sends 

To  surprise. 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.          87 

Look  !  look  !     'Tis  but  the  shadow 
Of  a  dark  cloud  creeping  slow 

O'er  the  ground — 
And  the  rivulet  is  sobbing, 
And  the  wind's  great  heart  is  throbbing 

To  its  sound. 

Then  a  clear  sharp  whisper  ran 
Through  the  heart  of  every  man, 

'Tis  the  foe ! 

Down — down  upon  your  faces, 
Like  shadows  in  your  places, 

Crouching  low! 

As  a  wrathful  fire  that  sweeps 
Through  the  forest,  as  it  sleeps 

Hushed  in  night, 
Surging  o'er  the  broken  wall 
Of  the  myriad  trees  that  fall 

By  its  might, 

Reaches  now  a  little  stream 
"Whose  defiant  waters  gleam 


88         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

In  its  path, 

And  oppose  a  glancing  front 
To  the  fierce  and  burning  brunt 

Of  its  wrath ! 

Here  in  vain  it  lifts  on  high, 
Through  the  red  and  frowning  sky, 

Arms  of  fire — 

Crushed  and  mouldering  on  the  hearth 
Of  the  cold  and  dreary  earth, 

They  expire  ! 

So,  with  the  tread  of  flame, 
The  wary  foeman  came 

In  his  might : 
A  stealthy  serpent  creeping 
On  his  wearied  prey  and  sleeping — 

Grand  the  sight! 

Ha,  his  fangs  !     See — see  them  glance — 
Bayonet  and  thirsty  lance — 
And  his  burning  eyeballs  dance 

With  delight. 


THE   HEROES    OF   THE    LAST   LUSTRE.  89 

Is  it  the  stealthy  tramp  of  foes  ? 
Or  warrior  hearts  in  burning  throes 

For  the  field  of  strife  ? 
Like  lurking  lions  they  crouch  and  bide 
The  word  that  shall  pour  the  crimson  tide 

Of  the  foeman's  life. 

Now,  Christian  soldier,  gird  thine  armor  on ! 
Clothed  in  the  panoply  of  prayer 
Against  the  spirits  of  the  air — 
Trusting  thy  God  will  aid 
The  right  with  thy  true  blade — 
Be  here  on  earth  thy  final  victory  won. 

They  come — no  sound  of  life  is  heard ! 

Till  as  a  bolt  at  noonday  hurled 

Upon  the  still  and  drowsy  world, 
Shrieks  through  the  air  the  signal  word — 

And  two  hundred  men 

Echo  it  again — 
"Up,  97th!"     Onward  they  charge 


90  THE    IIEKOE8   OF   THE    LAST   LUSTRE. 

Adown  the  steep  and  slippery  gorge, 
Across  the  separating  span, 
And  HEDLEY  YICAES  leads  the  van! 

It  was  a  glorious  sight,  to  see 
Two  hundred  warriors  valiantly 
Against  two  thousand  foemen  dare 
Their  few  but  trusty  blades  to  bare  : 

It  would  have  nerved  the  coward's  hand 
To  see  their  leader's  fearless  front, 
Bearing  himself  the  battle's  brunt, 

And  leading  on  his  little  band. 
Oh  soul,  how  short  is  Time 
To  hymn  the  deed  sublime ! 

Now,  bursting  from  the  clouds  of  Heaven, 

The  moonbeams  play 
About  the  red  path  he  has  riven ; 
And  once  again  the  cry  is  given, 

"  Follow"—"  This  way  !" 
A  shot — he  falls !     But  circling  round, 


THE   HEROES   OF   THE   LAST   LUSTRE.  91 

His  gallant  men  dispute  the  ground, 
And  bear  him  from  the  fray. 
They  bear  him  gently  in  their  loving  arms, 
Hough  men  whose  heart  the  gory  contest  charms — 
And  wash  his  death-wound  with  the  tender  tear, 
Stout  men  who  have  not  wept  for  many  a  year : 
And  softly  Night  with  darkened  wings 
About  their  backward  pathway  clings, 
To  shield  them  from  the  foeman's  gaze 
And  hide  the  battle's  blinding  blaze. 

As  slowly  back  their  steps  they  trace 
"With  hearts  that  echo  to  their  pace, 

Bright  grows  the  world's  eclipse — 
"  Cover — oh,  cover  up  my  face  !" 

Comes  faintly  from  his  lips — 
And  rough  hands  softly  shroud  the  eye 
That  cannot  bide  Heaven's  brilliancy. 

Oh !   not  the  splendors  of  the  moonlight  sky, 
From  whose  array  the  cloudy  armies  fly — 


92         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Nor  those  fair  orbs  who  in  their  clustered  might 
Put  the  weak  phantoms  of  the  earth  to  flight — 

Are  burning  on  his  sight ! 
See !     O'er  infinity's  still  depths  they  hie 

With  steps  that  whiten  on  the  blue  profound, 
And  soft  descending  by  each  starry  round 
Link  heaven  and  earth,  and  bridge  the  yawning  sky- 

Au  angel  company ! 
They  come  with  hymn 
And  harp  of  cherubim, 
To  welcome  to  the  pure  repose  of  heaven 
The  victor-soul  to  whom  the  crown  is  given. 


Resplendent  stars,  in  purple  meadow  trembling ; 

Leaves  of  the  great  Heaven  tree — 
Or  countless  spears  of  angel  host  assembling 

Throughout  infinity — 

Why  droop  ye  each  your  sadly  shining  leaf, 
And  trail  your  spears  in  silent,  sullen  grief, 

And  twinkle  tearfully  ? 


THE   HEROES   OF  THE   LAST   LUSTRE.  93 

Over  the  sick  man's  midnight  room  advancing, 
Our  eyes  grew  great  with  grief, 

On  the  pale  face  of  brave  old  Kaglan  glancing, 
Britannia's  noble  chief: 

See  Justice  limping  with  a  tardy  wreath, 

To  grace  the  brow,  alas !  grown  cold  in  death, 
With  Time's  frail,  fading  leaf! 

Lingering  star,  to  Night's  pale  brow  fetill  clinging, 

"While  hastes  the  rosy  day, 
As  tear  from  cheek  of  sorrow  slowly  winging 

Before  Love's  sunny  ray —  • 
Hast  thou  some  message  still  to  man  to  give, 
Some  memory  in  earth's  great  heart  to  live, 

Some  radiant,  star-like  lay? 

I  caught  the  echo  of  a  song  when  straying 

By  Alma's  bloody  vale— 
And  every  breeze  o'er  field  of  battle  playing 

Repeats  the  glorious  tale  : 
List !  while  before  the  sunbeams'  step  of  flame 


94:         THE  HEKOE8  OK  THK  LA8T  LU8TKE. 

My  dew-drop  beauty  fades,  I  hymn  the  name 
Of  FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE. 

Blessings  on  thee,  Angel  I 

Woman  thou  art  not — 
Sent  as  an  Evangel 

To  this  lowly  spot, 
To  preach  to  man  the  golden  strain  well-nigh  forgot  I 

On  the  battle's  midnight 

Rising  like  a  star 
Crowned  with  heavenly  light, 

At  thy  sight  afar 
To  prayers  and  blessings  turn  the  horrid  cries  of  war. 

As  the  feet  of  April 

On  the  sunny  slope 
Sky  and  earth  with  beauty  fill, 

Cups  of  fragrance  ope, 

So  up  beneath   thy  feet   spring   life    and    love   and 
hope. 


THE  HEKOES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.         95 

As  a  ray  of  sunlight, 

Stealing  through  the  wood, 
Glances  on  a  flower  bright 

In  the  solitude. 
Thy  genial  love  finds  buds  in  hearts  however  rude. 

Up  with  gentle  motion, 

Rising  one  by  one, 
As  the  waves  of  ocean 

Smile  back  to  the  sun, 

So  by  thy  passing  beam  bright  looks  and  smiles  are 
won. 

At  the  step  of  morning 

Birds  their  notes  prolong, 
'  Her  fair  brows  adorning 

With  a  crown  of  song — 
And  round  thy  coming  step  the  thankful  voices  throng. 

"Tell  me,  wounded  comrade, 
Is  it  angel's  form 


96  THE   HEROES   OF   THE  LAST   LUSTKE. 

In  a  mortal's  mien  clad, 

Winging  through  this  storm 

Of  hissing  hail  and  clashing  clouds  where  death  shot 
swarm? 

"  Is  she  friend,  or  mother, 
Searching  through  the  dead 

For  her  loved  ?     Or  other 

Dearer  still  is  fled? 
Sure  such  a  flood  of  love  on  kin  alone  were  shed. 

"  Battle's  storm-clouds  looming 

On  the  field  of  strife — 
,     With  the  thunder's  booming 

Peals  with  death-glance  rife — 
Melt  into  sunset  sheen  and  gild  departing  life." 

Floods  of  fragrance  flinging 

Through  the  house  of  death, 
With  a  prayer  winging 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.          97 

Home  the  parting  breath, 

To    thee    the   dying    men    their  last    fond  words  be 
queath. 

Star  of  even  shining 

On  the  brow  of  night, 
With  the  day's  declining 

Glows  with  fairer  light — 

So  in  hope's  twilight  grow  thy  look  and  words  more 
bright. 

Silver-footed  shower 

On  the  thirsty  plain 
Paints  the  pallid  flower, 

Gilds  the  summer  grain, 
And  makes  the  barren  heath  with  beauty  flush  again. 

So  eyes  with  gladness  dance, 

Ears  fresh  music  hear, 
Caught  from  thy  kindly  glance. 


98         THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Word  and  frequent  tear- 
E'en  on  the  fallen  oak  some  shoots  of  life  appear. 

Little  brook  is  gliding 

Through  the  forest  dim, 
It  the  leaves  are  hiding, 
Yet  its  ceaseless  hymn 

From  hill-sides   wakes  an  echo,  and   from  mountains 
grim ! 

Still  its  waves  are  catching 

Little  shreds  of  gold, 
It  the  sun  is  patching 
With  hues  manifold, 
Till  the  breeze  bends  the  oak  its  beauty  to  behold. 

Its  little  heart  is  full, 

Full  of  warmth  and  love, 
Thus  thy  footsteps  beautiful 

Through  our  life-fields  rove, 
And  earth  is  bent  to  praise  by  echoes  from  above. 


THE  HEKOE8  OF  THE  LAST  LU8TBE.         99 

Saint,  or  woman,  thou! 

Throughout  every  land 
"With  thy  heart  endow 
All  thy  sister  band — 
And  circle  all  the  earth  with  thy  love's  golden  strand ! 


III. 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.         103 


I. 

Is  it  the  moan  of  the  northern  wind 
Through  the  hearts  of  trees, 
The  tremulous  trees ; 

Or  the  pleading  plaint  of  the  wounded  hind, 
That  faints  on  the  breeze? 

n. 

Is  it  the  swan's  last,  death-saddened  song 

That  sounds  in  our  ears, 

Our  yearning  ears ; 
Or  the  stifled  sob  o'er  a  maiden's  wrong, 

This  fount  of  tears? 

m. 

Is  it  the  dirge  the  sad  sea  sings, 
The  querulous  sea, 
Old  white-haired  sea; 


104         THE  HEKOE8  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Or  the  bursting  heart  the  torrent  flings 
Down  recklessly? 
rv. 

Is  it  the  mother's  heart-broken  cry 

O'er  her  only  child, 

Her  pale,  dead  child; 
Or  the  breeze  of  Autumn  gone  sighing  by 

Where  flowers  once  smiled? 

v. 

Is  it  the  wail  of  a  spirit  lost, 

So  startlingly  sad, 

Sounding  so  sad; 
Or  the  midnight  shriek  of  unburied  ghost, 

Sorrow  gone  mad? 

VI. 

Is  it  an  archangel's  warning  sword 

That  cleaveth  the  air, 

The  frightened  air; 
Or  deathful  breath  of  the  wrath  of  the  Lord, 

Waking  despair? 


THE   HEROES   OF  THE   LAST   LUSTRE.  105 

Lo !   through  the  murky  sky  the  sword  upraised ! 
At  whose  fell  sight  the  sun  grows  dim  and  mazed ; 
The  air  all  mute ;  the  breeze  crept  far  away : 
And  night  o'ertakes  the  scared  fast-fleeing  day ! 
Dark  pestilential  mists  o'erhang  like  palls, 
Up  the  blue  slope  the  plague's  dank  shadow  crawls, 
And  where  Heaven's  star-gemmed  palm  above  them 

spanned, 

Disease  spreads  over  all  her  hollow  hand ! 
One  deep,  deep  sot  from  choking  breasts  that  starts — 
One  lengthened  wail  of  thousand  breaking  hearts ! 
In  sackcloth  bowed  beside  her  children's  bed, 
Old  Norfolk  anguished  bends  her  widowed  head, 
Or  sadly  wanders  by  their  myriad  graves, 
Nor  comfort  takes,  nor  consolation  craves. 
Cradled  in  earth  her  children  calmly  sleep, 
Their  burial  chanted  by  the  passing  deep ; 
She  cannot  wake  them  with  her  luring  charms, 
They've  found,  and  love  their  earlier  mother's  arms. 
O  Norfolk,  weep  !     In  sorrow  shroud  thy  face ! 
Gone  is  thy  beauty ;  fled  thy  olden  grace ! 


106        THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Stricken  of  God,  a  leper  henceforth  go, 
Thy  form  in  sackcloth  clad,  thy  heart  in  woe ! 
Night  has  set  on  thee — dark,  Egyptian  night, 
Starless  and  hopeless,  with  no  morrow  bright — 
From  house  to  house  the  messenger  is  fled — 
No  hearth-stone  now  that  numbers  not  its  dead! 
Hear  ye  his  pinions  sweep  ?     Behold,  he's  come, 
And  'neath  his  wings  spreads  universal  gloom ! 

But  rose  no  star  upon  this  fearful  night? 
No  bright'ning  beam — nor  any  ray  of  light? 
Did  worldly  barriers  stand  unmoved  before 
The  tide  of  grief  that  swept  that  fated  shore  ? 
Did  Mammon  lift  his  glittering  load  on  high 
And,  Mercy  spurned,  his  blood-bound  kindred  fly  ? 
Did  dove-eyed  Charity,  her  cheek  grown  pale 
While  Love  and  Fear,  in  turn,  her  heart  assail, 
Lift  up  her  eyes  to  man  then  all  in  vain, 
And  only  words,  not  deeds,  of  good-will  gain  ? 
Did  Pity  kneel  alone  by  new-made  grave, 
And  stretch  no  hand  the  stricken  life  to  save? 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.         107 

Or  hand  of  earth  spurn  aught  that  Love  had  tasked, 
Or  heart  of  man  refuse  what  Mercy  asked  ? 
Speak,  Norfolk,  from  the  path  beside  each  mound 
That  then  the  kindly  step  of  stranger  owned — 
Not  strangers  they — a  dearer  name  they  earned, 
A  brother's  love  then  in  their  true  hearts  burned ! 
Swift  as  they  saw  the  Pest's  foul  pinions  spread, 
A  brother  host  to  smitten  Norfolk  sped — 
Left  life  behind  and  came  to  watch  with  death, 
Where  food  was  plague,  and  pestilence  was  breath! 
No  North,  no  South,  nor  East,  nor  "West  were  known ; 
A  common  sorrow  made  their  heart  but  one  ! 
Then  Northern  hand,  rough  from  the  heavy  plough, 
Soft  as  an  infant's  soothed  the  Southern  brow ; 
And  Western  palm,  inured  to  rifle's  grasp, 
Eased  the  soul's  parting  with  its  friendly  clasp ; 
The  Woodsman,  when  the  struggling  breath  had  fled, 
Read  solemn  words  above  the  highborn  dead, 
And  dropped  a  tear — the  only  mourner  he, 
To  honor  thus  a  stranger's  memory. 


108        THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Nor  strangers  only  in  these  good  deeds  shared : 

Stout-hearted  sons  of  that  old  city  dared 

The  certain  grave  that  gaped  on  either  side, 

And  stayed,  and  strove,  and  sickened,  sank  and  died. 

O  Love,  that  tempered  this  his  fearful  frown! 
When  fell  the  harvest  by  Death's  sickle  strewn, 
God's  angel  followed  in  the  reaper's  path 
To  quench  the  terrors  of  his  Master's  wrath, 
And  garnered  from  the  desolated  plain 
Rich  golden  sheaves  of  ever-blooming  grain. 
How  shall  I  speak  thy  praise,  O  saintly  man, 
Soldier  of  Christ,  fall'n  fighting  in  the  van ! 
The  Cross  in  hand,  where'er  Death's  shadow  fell 
Thy  soothing  tones  the  darkness  would  dispel ; 
The  sick  aroused  to  hear  thy  cheering  voice, 
And  dying  faces  shone  with  new-learned  joys; 
The  weak  were  strengthened  by  thy  joyous  tone, 
The  strong  man  wept,  and  then  went  stronger  on. 
Thy  priestly  robes  waved  o'er  the  coffined  dead, 
Thy  snow-white  vestments  shone  by  dying  bed, 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.      109 

To  bless  their  rest,  or  cheer  the  mourner's  heart, 
Or  bid  the  soul  in  joyful  hope  depart. 
But  there  was  discord  in  one  angel  song — 
One  face  was  wanting  in  the  heavenly  throng — 
Too  pure  for  earth  where  he  was  lent,  not  given, 
Lamented  CHISHOLM  sought  his  home  in  Heaven. 

O  Whirlwind,  holding  awful  revelry, 

Spare  from  thy  deathful  blast  that  noble  tree  ! 

O  Fire,  whose  footstep  is  a  blackened  path, 

Spare  but  one  blossom  from  thy  burning  wrath! 

Vain,  vain — the  blow  has  fallen — our  hopes  are  fled — 

And  JACKSON'S  name  is  numbered  with  the  dead ! 

He,  toiling,  patient,  day  on  weary  day, 

Drooped  not  nor  fainted  on  his  lonely  way, 

But  when  the  summons  came  he  laid  him  down 

And  died  a  warrior,  with  his  armor  on ! 

Only  death's  grasp  his  generous  arm  could  hold — 

Only  in  death  his  noble  heart  grew  cold. 

As  in  some  old  Cathedral's  stately  aisle, 

The  colored  shadows  of  the  sunlight  smile 


110  THE    HEROES   OF   THE    LAST    LUSTRE. 

On  marble  face,  which,  though  earth-born  it  be, 
Hath  won  from  stone  an  immortality — 
So  'round  his  form,  in  death  grown  marble-pale, 
Love  heavenly-hued  enwrapped  its  sunny  veil, 
Streaming  through  broken  hearts,  and  still 
Around  his  grave  its  golden  shadows  trill  I 

Woman,  forgive !  if  trembling  I  essay 
To  hymn  your  praises  in  my  humble  lay ; 
Timid,  I  shrank  the  task  till  sober  Truth 
Came  bounding  forth  to  help  my  shrinking  youth — 
For  only  half  of  Truth's  fair  face  were  seen 
Should  Woman's  name  and  deeds  no  mention  win! 
Hark !  as  I  sing,  from  Norfolk's  hearths  and  graves, 
Blent  with  the  heaving  bass  of  Ocean's  waves, 
A  strain  arising  soft,  and  sweet,  and  clear, 
Enters  the  heart  through  the  enchanted  ear: 

So  in  the  wondrous  tale  of  Eastern  lore,  • 

\ 

The  magic  word  spreads  wide  the  hidden  door. 
Oh,  could  I  grasp  that  sweetly  varied  strain, 
Earth's  giant  heart  should  thrill  with  joyous  pain ! 


THE  HEKOES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTKE.         Ill 

Alas !  its  echo  floats  above  my  pen, 
And  I  can  only  echo  that  again. 


Toll,  bell !  the  funeral  bell ! 

Life's  little  day 

Has  passed  away ! 
King  out  a  solemn  knell ! 

A  score  of  years, 

Linked  smiles  and  tears, 
Are  measured  by  thy  strong  remorseless  swell ! 

Toll,  bell !    the  funeral  bell ! 

A  form  of  clay 

Has  passed  away! 
Ring  out  a  solemn  knell ! 

How,  young  and  fair 

Beyond  compare, 

Her  life  was  given 

To  point  to  Heaven — 
Tell  out,  tell  out  with  thy  remorseless  swell ! 


112        THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

Toll,  bell !  the  funeral  bell ! 
Another  soul 
Has  reached  its  goal ! 
Ring  out  a  solemn  knell  I 
Hark  the  loud  song 
The  saints  among ! 
Tell  out  a  sinner  saved  with  thy  remorseless  swell 

Toll,  bell !  the  funeral  bell ! 

Thou  canst  not  dim 

The  angel  hymn ! 
Yet  ring  a  solemn  knell! 

Her  sin's  foul  spot 

Has  been  forgot: 

Oh,  to  her  home 

The  wanderer's  come ! 

A  triumph  now  is  your  remorseless  swell  I 

\ 

Toll,  bell !  the  funeral  bell  I 
Falls  the  full  tear 
On  a  bride's  bier ! 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTKE. 

King  out  a  solemn  knell ! 
His  tears  in  vain 
Appeal  to  Heaven : 
Tell  out  his  grief  with  thy  remorseless  swell  1 

Toll,  bell !  the  funeral  bell ! 

A  blooming  prey 

Death  bears  away ! 
King  out  a  solemn  knell ! 

Dry,  dry  his  tears : 

Life's  ceaseless  fears 

And  bitter  woe 

She'll  never  know ! 
Tell  out  her  joy  in  thy  remorseless  swell ! 

Toll,  bell !  the  funeral  bell ! 
A  mother's  breast 
Has  welcomed  rest ! 
King  out  a  solemn  knell ! 
Well  done !  well  done  ! 
Sweet,  patient  one ! 
"Welcome  her  home  with  thy  remorseless  swell ! 

8 


11-jt  TUB   M^mmy  OF  THK  LAST  LUSTRE. 


Toll,  bell!  the  funeral  bell! 
Dost  to  its  sod! 
Soul  to  its  God! 

Sing  out  a  solemn  knell! 
Well  done  thy  part, 
Thou  noble  heart! 
Ring  out,  I  crave, 
«A  Woman's  Grave" 
Over  her  rest  with  thy  remorseless  swell! 


Echo,  ben !  echo,  bell ! 

Above  their  lowly  tomb, 
For  centuries  to  come! 

Echo  thy  solemn  knell! 

Oh  tell  of  Woman's  feith 
That  trod  in  Duty's  path— 
Oh  tell  of  Woman's  love, 

These  clustered  graves  that  prove! 
And  echo  this  with  thy  remorseless  sweU! 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  ULST  LUSTBE.        115 

He  who  was  foremost  in  old  Norfolk's  pride! 
Xoblest  of  noble  sons,  most  fit  to  guide 
A  people's  helm  in  every  hour  of  need — 
True  to  his  God,  and  to  his  heart's  proud  creed, 
When  stout  men  paled,  and  cowards  fled  appalled, 
A  chosen  band  of  heroes  'round  him  called, 
And  calmly  faced  the  coming  death,  nor  knew 
What  'twas  to  fear,  or  be  in  thought  untrue. 
There  was  his  post;  his  was  the  present  hour; 
In  God's  great  hand  lay  all  the  Future's  power; 
His  was  to  do;  his  daily  life  to  bear; 
His  life  was  God's,  his  honor  his  own  care : 
God  took  the  soul  by  deed  well  tried  on  earth — 
In  death  his  honor  proved  its  lofty  birth. 

To  die  in  battle  is  a  death  sublime! 
But  when  the  faint  hand  of  expiring  Time 
Shall  drop  forever  from  its  trembling  hold 
The  scroll  with  all  its  hero-names  enrolled — 
Eternity  from  Earth's  devouring  flames 
Shall  snatch  her  glowing  catalogue  of  names, 


116  THE   HEROES   OF  THE   LAST  LUSTRE. 

And  where  the  falling  stars  withhold  their  rays, 

These  deathless  names  shall  shine  to  endless  days ; 

There  splendent  as  the  spheres  his  fame  shall  be, 

Who  died  a  martyr  to  Humanity ! 

So  long  as  Honor  lives  unstained  on  Earth; 

So  long  as  Christians  know  a  martyr's  worth ; 

So  long  as  name  unspotted  is  a  crown; 

So  long  as  men  a  God,  or  soul,  shall  own; — 

Thy  name  shall  live,  and  loved  and  honored  be,    . 

O  martyred  WOODIS,  in  Earth's  memory ! 

And  thou,  Virginia !  'round  thy  heart  entwined, 
That  hero  host  forever  keep  enshrined — 
Strangers  and  sons  alike  thy  love  now  claim, 
Their  cause  was  one,  their  life,  their  death,  their  fame. 
Ye  mountains,  write  the  tale  deep  in  your  hearts! 
Thou  sea,  proclaim  it  to  the  distant  marts ! 
And  wind  !  that  sleepest  now .  on  their  loved  tomb — 
"Whene'er  thou  wanderest  by  Virginian  home, 
Tell  of  the  sainted  dead,  and  make  their  name 
To  giant  deeds  each  brave  man's  heart  inflame: 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.        117 

And  if  perchance  at  twilight's  thoughtful  tide, 
Some  pilgrim  stranger  stand  those  mounds  beside, 
And  ask  the  deeds  of  nameless  dead  beneath, 
Thy  loving  tribute  to  their  memory  breathe. 
Tell  of  the  horror  at  the  plague's  first  stride — 
Tell  of  the  faith  that  still  on  God  relied — 
Tell  of  the  woe  that  wept  in  every  home — 
The  noisome  dead  uncoffined — and  the  gloom 
Outpoured  upon  them,  till  the  living  fled 
Each  other's  sight  more  corpse-like  than  the  dead  1 
Tell  of  the  hours  of  ceaseless  toil — the  love 
That  at  the  bedside  still  with  sickness  strove — 
The  wasted  frame — the  body  racked  with  pain — 
The  blackened  tongue  that  strove  to  thank — in  vain — 
The  soul  that  shrank  not  at  the  step  of  death — 
The  glazing  eye — the  last,  calm,  peaceful  breath ; — 
Tell  of  the  trench  in  which  his  corpse  was  thrown — 
Tell  of  the  martyr's  bright,  eternal  crown ! 


EPILOGUE. 

OH,  say  not  that  the  martyr  spirit's  dead  1 
Or  that  the  hero  heart 
Will  e'er  from  earth  depart ; 

Or  we  shall  ever  weep  true  manhood  fled ! 

The  oak's  red  heart  is  throbbing  through  his  leaves, 

As  in  the  ages  gone ; 

And  still  with  mournful  moan, 
The  Autumn  wind  through  the  bare  branches  grieves ! 

Yet  every  Summer  brings  a  crown  of  green 
To  grace  his  brave  old  head — 
Him,  left  by  winter  dead, 

Spring  loves  to  deck  in  youth's  perpetual  sheen. 


THE  HEKOES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTKE.        119 

The  world's  ripe  fruit  drops  in  its  open  grave, 

Touched  by  a  wintry  hand : 

True  hearts  of  every  land, 
The  strength  and  glory  that  the  Summer  gave, 


These  never  die — but  in  an  endless  chain, 
As  star-zone  of  the  sky 
At  day's  step  seems  to  die, 

In  fresher  beauty  they  are  born  again. 


The  white-winged  snow  would  pall  the  wearied  eye, 
Weighing  on  earth's  great  heart, 
If  never  to  depart — 

Its  beauty  in  satiety  would  hidden  lie : 


April  would  cease  to  move  us  by  her  tears, 
Nor  could  her  sunny  smile 
The  wayward  heart  beguile, 

If  she  swayed  earth  through  never-ending  years : 


120  THE   HEROES   OF  THE   LAST   LU8TIJK. 

Summer,  far  scattering  her  wealth  of  gold, 
Would  e'en  a  tyrant  be, 
If  she  unchangingly 

The  seasons  in  her  gilded  chain  should  hold : 


Autumn,  bent  low  o'er  earth  his  loved  to  shield 
From  winter's  frozen  glance — 

Pierced  by  his  icy  lance, 
His  red  life  shedding  over  hill  and  field, 


And  staining  tree  and  flower  with  its  rich  flood- 
Would  far  more  cruel  seem 
Than  any  fleeting  dream 

That  ever  mourner's  sobbing  slumber  wooed : 

Or  than  the  gleams  of  Paradise  that  glance 

Upon  the  traveller's  eye, 

Born  of  the  desert  sky 
Only  to  break  the  heart  they  would  entrance. 


THE   HEROES    OF   THE    LAST   LUSTRE.  121 

Man  is  the  fitting  index  of  his  age : 

Some  for  great  deeds  are  born, 
The  earth's  life  to  adorn, 

The  world  their  own — they  the  world's  heritage : 

Each  in  his  proper  sphere  moves  on  through  earth ; 

We  keep  our  lowly  path, 

Waiting  in  humble  faith 
Until  some  age  shall  give  a  giant  birth : 


This  is  the  lesson  from  all  nature  learned — 
Still,  in  her  snowy  shroud, 
Old  mother  earth  lay  bowed, 

While  seeds  of  beauty  in  her  bosom  burned, 


Until  the  mandate  came  for  Summer's  reign, 
And  then  her  voice  upraised 
Her  mighty  Maker  praised, 

In  golden  notes  that  quivered  o'er  the  plain  ! 


Tin-;   iii:i:oE8  OF  Tin;   I.A.-T   i.i  >II:K. 

A  lily  lapped  in  fragrant  Summer  airs, 
Like  a  seraphic  wing 
Around  which  sunbeams  cling, 

And  floods  of  heavenly  songs  that  earthward  bears, 


Would  seem,  upon  the  pale,  still  breast  of  snows, 
To  mock  the  pallid  dearth 
Stalking  the  streets  of  earth, 

The  summer-ghost  tlmt  shrinking  winter  knows  : 

Not  all  are  born  on  earth  for  giant  deeds ; 

Each  has  his  work  to  do, 

His  fixed  path  to  pursue, 
To  play  his  part  where'er  his  life-road  leads : 


Yet,  in  a  lowly  sphere  each  manly  heart, 
If  to  himself  but  true — 

Though  he  alum-  will   view 
The  toils  that  cloud — the   unseen   toes   that   Mart 


THE    HEROES    OF   THE    LAST    LUSTKE.  123 

About  his  path,  and  darken  it  with  strife — 

Sure  will  he  victor  be, 

And  conquering  gloriously, 
Splendent  will  be  the  evening  of  his  life ! 


As  much  a  hero  he  who  boldly  meets 
The  lesser  ills  of  earth — 
Though  we  but  know  his  worth 

In  the  bright  sunset  that  his  life  completes. 

So  o'er  the  death-couch  of  the  clouded  day, 
To  the  upgazing  world 
New  beauties  are  unfurled, 

Draping  the  pale  sky  with  their  rich  array — 


And  glittering  through  the  bright  empurpled  arch, 
The  sun  rolls  on  in  pride — 
The  grey  clouds  cannot  hide 

His  eve  of  fire,  or  longer  stav  his  march  ! 


THK    IIKUOKS    OK    THE    J,A>T    1. 1'.- I  UK. 

Tlie  high-browed  peak,  crowned  by  the  sunset's  gold, 
More  stately  seems,  and  grand, 
Beside  the  lowlier  band 

That  lift  their  heads  in  wonder  to  behold : 


The  grim  tree  takes  a  grandeur  from  the  flower ; 

One  mighty  in  the  earth, 

Humble  the  other's  birth, 
A  poet  singing  through  his  sunny  hour — 


Yet  loving  eyes  will  bend  to  mark  the  blush 
That  tints  the  blossom's  cheek — 
And  wayward  ears  to  seek 

The  fragrant  songs  that  from  its  full  heart  gush: 

And  mayhap  some  will  think  this  humble  meed 
More  worthy  of  the  soul 
And  of  its  heavenly  goal, 

And  the  pure  teachings  of  its  lofty  creed. 


THE   HEROES   OF   THE   LAST   LTJSTRE.  125 

World-greatness  is  true  manhood  sealed  by  Fame ; 

When  lulled  in  arms  of  peace. 

All  sounds  of  discord  cease, 
And  sleep  steals  soft  upon  earth's  giant  frame, 


Though  all  things  seem  in  silent  slumber  lapped, 

Yet  there  is  unseen  seed, 

Parent  of  mighty  deed, 
Offspring  of  Time,  in  Earth's  wide  womb  enwrapped. 


What  though  the  mount's  black  brow  has  hoary  grown, 
Its  deep  mouth  sealed  with  ice  ? 
Beneath  the  fierce  fires  hiss, 

And  tones  unearthly  through  its  caverns  moan. 


Far  down  beneath  the  waves  a  coral  isle, 
By  hands  unseen  bedight, 
Slow  rises  to  the  light, 

And  parts  the  waters  with  a  rosy  smile ! 


126        THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE. 

"World-greatness  needs  the  gaudy  seal  of  Fame — 
When  its  full  time  has  come 
It  bursts  its  prison  womb, 

And  nations  wondering  its  birth  proclaim : 


As  when  above  the  oosom  brown  of  earth 
The  babe-flower  lifts  its  head, 
Then  joyful  sunbeams  spread 

Their  frolic  ring  about  and  dance  of  mirth ; 

The  air  is  near  to  lull  it  with  soft  breeze, 
And  bear  its  stolen  sweets 
To  the  dell's  deep  retreats, 

And  shout  a  triumph  through  the  bending  trees 


The  dew  sits  janitor  upon  its  leaves 

Throughout  the  starry  night, 
To  guard  from  wicked  sprite, 

Or  list  the  whispered  plot  the  tempest  weaves! 


THE    HEROES    OF    THE    LAST    LUSTRE.  127 

The  sunlight  paints  it  with  its  richest  tints, 

And  with  a  brush  of  gold 

Makes  its  pale  cheek  unfold 
Each  day  new  beauties  that  its  touch  imprints ! 


The  silver-sandalled  shower  speeds  sobbing  by, 
Kisses  its  tender  face, 
And  rains  a  gentler  grace — 

Alas  !  it  weepeth  that  the  flower  must  die ! 


So  Heaven  first  greets  the  new-born  hero's  sight — 
Then  sunny  eyes  of  earth 
Dance  at  his  glorious  birth, 

And  circle  'round  him  as  a  crown  of  light : 


And  deep-voiced  Fame  is  there  to  catch  his  deeds, 
And  spread  them  through  the  world — 
Her  mighty  wings  unfurled, 

Waking  a  tempest  throughout  earth  she  speeds ! 


128  THE   HEROES    OF   THE    LAST    LUSTfiE. 

Then  myriad  hearts  catch  up  the  swelling  gale, 
And  myriad  souls  are  glad, 
And  myriad  voices  add 

To  the  wild  storms  the  hero's  course  that  hail ! 


Thus  with  the  mortal  whom  the  world  calls  great- 
But  there  are  god-like  deeds 
The  worldling  never  heeds, 

Nor  less  their  worth  that  humble  is  their  fate — 


Whose  star  (not  ruddy  as  the  martial  Mars, 
Sending  his  lurid  beams 
Far  through  the  realm  of  dreams, 

And  waking  watchful  worlds  to  thought  of  wars) — 


Eises  in  light  serene  above  the  vale, 

And  hangs,  a  guardian  sprite 
That  smiles  at  black-browed  Night, 

And  breaks  with  silver  spear  the  clouds  that  scale 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTKE.         129 

The  azure  rampart  of  the  slumbering  skies : 

As  sheenest  jewel  fair, 

Pure  as  an  angel's  prayer, 
Only  before  the  sunlight's  name  it  flies  ! 


Day  must  succeed  to  Night— (poor,  lore-lorn  Night, 
"Who,  following  patient,  waits 
At  Day's  rich,  golden  gates, 

Jewelled,  to  heighten  more  her  piteous  plight !) 


Each  must  have  equal  sway :  but  some  great  heart 
At  Day's  proud  step  will  thrill ; 
An  humbler  soul  will  trill 

The  songs  that  round  the  steps  of  Even  start. 


Under  each  sway  content — with  equal  love — 
Whether  the  yielding  air 
A  gold-throned  monarch  bear, 

Awed  by  the  glories  that  about  him  move  : 

9 


130  THE    HEROES    OF    THE    LAST    LUSTKE. 

Or  if  a  silver  sceptre  sway  the  spheres, 
And  charm,  with  tender  ray, 
From  Day's  wild  reign  away — 

Still  must  our  praises  triumph  o'er  our  fears. 


Oh !  when  a  hand  of  cloud  encircles  earth, 
And  dims  the  sparkling  stream, 
And  makes  the  dank  hills  seem 
Forever  to  have  hushed  their  songs  of  mirth- 
Doubt  not  the  sun  is  shining  overhead! 
Bursting  the  cloudy  gate, 
What  splendors  on  him  wait, 
And  over  earth  what  floods  of  glory  spread ! 


THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRE.        131 


O  BROTHER  !  speed  the  noble  cause  of  Man  ! 

Make  thine  own  heart  a  star, 

Sending  its  radiance  far, 
Till  Love  completes  the  work  that  Love  began ! 

Dream  not  of  glories  of  the  days  of  yore — 

Not  all  the  day  is  sped, 

Thy  sun  gleams  overhead 
In  the  bright  hollow  of  the  Evermore  ! 

Oh !  when  Time's  gewgaw  sun  has  shrivelled  up 
The  ghastly  moon  has  fled 
Unto  the  ever  dead, 

And  with  her  drawn  her  tinsel  silver  group ; 

And  when  this  cloudy  curtain  of  the  air 
That  angel  hands  now  hold, 
Shall  be  at  last  uprolled, 

And  the  great  theatre  beyond  laid  bare 


132        THE  HEROES  OF  THE  LAST  LUSTRK. 

Rash  pen,  forbear  the  Future's  wealth  to  seek 

Let  no  divining  rod 

Turn  towards  the  throne  of  God : 
This — only  this — is  given  thee  to  speak  : 

Its  starlight  will  be  actions  great  and  good, 
Catching  their  holy  glow, 
(As  sunbeams  star-ward  flow,) 

From  the  Eternal  Sun — our  Mighty  God ! 


NOTES. 


IT  is  not,  at  this  time,  necessary  to  note  particularly  deeds  that  have 
become  household  words.  With  the  names  of  Franklin  and  Kane,  and 
the  princely  merchants  their  co-laborers  ;  with  the  heroes  and  heroines 
of  the  Crimea  ;  with  the  gentle  story  of  Lady  Franklin,  and  Florence 
Nightingale,  and  Hedley  Vicars,  all  who  will  read  this  little  book  are 
familiar.  No  one  will  be  surprised  to  meet  them  in  this  song. 

But  there  are  others,  no  less  worthy  of  mention,  who,  in  this  wild 
frenzy  of  American  life,  may  be  forgotten,  if  they  have  not  already 
passed  out  of  the  memory  of  the  multitude.  I  speak  of  OUR  OWN 
HEROES — those  especially  our  own  ;  not  in  the  spirit  of  boasting  which 
is  our  national  failing,  but  in  the  faith  of  the  oneness  of  man.  Our 
boast  is  not  in  vain,  when  we  speak  of  Chisholm,  and  Jackson,  and 
AVoodis — of  true  men  and  noble-hearted  women  who  encountered  an 
atmosphere  more  deadly  than  the  frozen  air  of  the  North,  and  a  foe 
more  wily  and  dangerous  than  the  Eussian. 

In  alluding  to  Norfolk,  the  Author  has  included  under  the  term,  all 
that  part  of  Virginia  that  was  desolated  by  the  pestilence  of  1855  ;  and 
in  speaking  of  its  men  and  women,  he  has  but  set  to  homely  music  that 
which  was  read  in  every  paper  in  the  land. 

The  Hunter  Woodis  of  whom  the  Poem  speaks,  was  mayor  of  the  city 
of  Norfolk.  Of  him  it  is  enough  to  say,  that  in  the  prime  of  life,  aged 
but  35  years,  he  elected  to  remain  at  the  post  of  duty,  and  die  if  God 
so  willed. 

The  Rev.  Messrs.  Jackson  and  Chisholm  were  rectors  of  churches  at 
Norfolk  and  Portsmouth,  respectively.  They  were  men  of  pure  and 
unspotted  lives  ;  "  full  of  the  Holy  Ghost  and  of  faith  ;"  strict  in  living 
up  to  the  solemn  vows  of  their  office ;  devoted  to  the  Church,  and  to 
its  Head,  their  Master  ;  and,  therefore,  men  not  afraid  to  die.  I  have 


134 


heard  them  spoken  of  with  that  grateful  reverence  that  rests  upon  the 
memory  of  a  "  good  man,"  as  sunshine  on  a  grave. 

In  this  connection,  a  few  extracts  from  the  letters  of  Mr.  Chisholm 
(Memoir,  New  York,  1856),  with  reference  to  the  extent  and  horrors  of 
the  plague,  are  not  out  of  place  ;  to  show,  hy  contrast,  the  heroism  of 
these  soldiers  of  the  Cross,  who,  when  all  of  their  own  congregation 
were  dead  or  had  fled,  remained  to  meet  their  death  when  ministering 
to  strangers. 

"  The  state  of  things  in  Norfolk  is  said  to  he  appalling  heyond  all 
conception.  The  Baltimore  steamer  came  into  port  to-day,  to  land, 
among  other  articles,  a  lot  of  fifty  coffins  ;  and  we  are  told  that  such  was 
the  dire  need  of  them,  that  there  was  actual  quarrelling  and  fighting 
over  them."  "The  condition  of  our  town  (Portsmouth)  is  awful  be 
yond  conception.  The  eye  must  see  ;  the  ear  must  hear  ;  the  fancy 
cannot  furnish  the  deep,  dark  shadows  of  the  picture.  On  Sunday, 
thirty-two  deaths  ;  on  Monday,  twenty-two—to-day,  by  eleven  o'clock, 
seventeen.  The  heartless  language  of  the  undertaker  from  whom  I 
obtained  this  morning's  report,  was,  almost  in  a  tone  of  exultation: 
'Oh!  we'll  get  it  up  to  twenty  before  sunset.'  "  '-Never  since  the 
continent  of  America  has  been  settled  (I  speak  calmly,  and  with  refer 
ence  to  what  I  have  read  or  heard  of),  never  has  so  terrible  a  calamity 
overwhelmed  the  same  amount  of  population." 

To  this  general  statement,  I  append  three  notes,  explanatory  of  the 
only  places  that  seem  to  require  special  notice. 

Page  19  ;  lines  5  and  6. 

"  Than  him,  ne'er  mother  wept  a  nobler  son, 
Or  gained  so  soon,  in  thee,  as  dear  an  one." 

This  was  written  before  the  death  of  Dr.  Kane.  It  needs  a  master 
spirit  to  dare  take  up  the  song  now. 

Page  84  ;  line  10. 

"  But  her's  to  Love's  twin  cherubim,"  &c. 

Lest  in  this  singular  age  this  expression  be  misunderstood,  let  me 
state  that  it  is  of  earthly  affection  combined  with,  and  purified  by,  a 
holier  love,  that  this  speaks.  The  "Life  of  Hedley  Vicars"  bears  out 
the  truth  of  the  line. 


NOTES.  135 


Page  112  ;  line  12. 

"  Her  sin's  foul  spot 
Has  been  forgot." 

Let  it  be  written  here,  to  the  praise  of  woman,  true  to  her  nature 
even  in  degradation,  that  many  of  the  outcasts  of  Norfolk  were  found 
the  most  unselfish  attendants  on  the  dying ;  bathing  their  feet  with 
their  tears,  and  wiping  them  with  the  hairs  of  their  head,  if  that  by 
any  means  they  might  find  in  the  sick  and  friendless,  Him  whom  we 
"  have  always"  with  us. 

I  have  seen  few  nobler  pictures  in  the  gallery  of  life.  It  gives  new 
meaning  to  the  admonition,  "  He  that  is  without  sin,  let  him  first  cast 
a  stone. ' ' 

With  this,  the  Author  bids  his  little  song  God-speed.  To  our  com 
mon  humanity  the  appeal  has  been  made  ;  and  if -he  has  touched  a  liv 
ing  chord,  it  is  of  itself  a  sufficient  reward.  If  this  little  song  shall 
have  put  an  end  to  some  of  the  croakings  of  those  who  are  ever  prating 
of  the  glories  of  the  past,  and  shall  have  taught  them  that  the  earth 
has  not  yet  ceased  bearing  heroes  ;  if  it  open  to  the  eyes  of  the  men  and 
women  of  to-day,  the  fields  of  heroism  lying  about  them  on  every  side  ; 
if  it  show  the  young  clergyman  of  our  own  times  the  beauty  of  that  de 
votion  to  God's  service  even  unto  death,  that  finds  not  its  expression 
in  the  proclaiming  of  new  and  startling  human  conceits,  nor  its  reward 
in  the  noisy  applause  of  men  ;  if  it  impress  on  one  who  reads  it,  the 
moral  grandeur  of  DUTY  PERFORMED,  its  end  will  be  answered. 


THE   END. 


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